I PN 6161 
.M68 
Copy 1 






MMM 







ccccn 



•«c «:«■< <^sc 
crc<s< « 



CO <TCc<«. 
CC CCCcc 
CC COcc 



«3cC<:cfc 



CTC^CCS 

cc cc 



■ c< c < C 

<E«c ccc 



c c < 

' > 4 c 

c i < C 

c < 

c < 
f '< c 
£ C c 



C 1 


<r «r cr < 


Cc 


CC<cc 


< c 


Odccc 


c C 


CC^ 


c 


< C «" <^- « 


c 


t C<« 


< 


<r< <jpc- 


c 


< c «rc <ar« 


C< 


ccwc 


C<- 

c 


CCTCXcC 
c «cee<<: 


c 


c 


C -^ 3SL S 


c 
c 


c«xa«: 


c <rc c « 


C 


< ccc c 


c 


(CC^C 



t C CC c c 

:<: C CC CC 

' C CC cC 



cc-ccc 



X < CC CC 

CCCC( CC 



ccxco j - 

C( fCCcC 

c<s <c o 

Cc CC CC - 
c* c c C c < 

c^cfcv - 

C cc (c\k 

c c cc e c 

c cCe^C 



CC o c 



cc c« 
CC C <J c 



c c <r < 4 


c c < 


: ((< 


cr c 


cc < 


< < 


: ^c 


ex <" 


. « i 


L< C 


CC 4 


c 


cc 4 


. c < < 


£.<- 


c 


cC * 


v C 


CC 4 


:< c c 


cc 



Ccc cere 
^cc cccc 
"CC cccc 



«: c<* 
" ccc 
r ccc 

s cc <ccl ccc 

r <c 
<c 




r <igcC€g3ro 



c c 




cc * 


C c 


CC 


cc 4 


c c 




cc « 


<c c 


cc 


cC 4 


c c 


c< 


c.c < 


'C 


< I 


c c < 
c C < 


cc 






<T 


<C c 




<- c 






< < 


<■< < 




c «: 


« c 
<rc 




C ^ 


< r 4 


c ^ 


c< 


« 


<: < 


Cc 


c c 


<L * 


c<r 


' C« 


r « 


<• 


c< 


« 


c 


<r< 


<* 


c • 


< 


<r 


« 


< <: 


« 


c 


< 


4 


C ( 


c 

< c 

c 


^ 

« 

^ 



^c ar ^ cc 

I c ^ C Cc 

t iL «C ^-~ 



"c cC <T c<C 



cC'C Cccc ^ CC '^- 

'C((CCu< c<c CC ^ C 

«x c c: « «c: oC ^ 

CC C C c CCC O C< 

CC c^ c cf<c cC vv 



^r< tfnrrc 



r cC Cc < 



c f ('c<c^( 



c c c c 

C CC < 
: c < < 



C CC 

**ccc ^ 

<,< C^C 1 
^ « <cj 

c «c<l 



« 



3B8* 



<acc<«c 


<cc 


< «e 


cc^,«C 


CCC 




«CC«C 


CCC 


c.Jiljr 


ccc«k: 


CC 


c jgG' 


«C<«SL 


CCC 


c*£ 


cce *c 


CCC 


cC 


•cccc 


ccC 


t <c 



ccc«c ccc 
«pd ccc 

< «<£««; cC^< 

««: cg<: 

«rc cgc. 

< <G«:«d ■ CCC 
<^C CCC_ 

o <&C CCriMZ 

c< «$£<:_■ cc c 

x c c€rc_ 

• C>'C Cic 

. .*pSC CO*; 

cc - CCU«C 

C 8 C C <S«cr" 
■ v CC c << 



CcC 


- *3§2S^- ' 


C " c 


^ISKu-- 


cc» 


C ^^_ 


«. «c 




CC 


CC ^jgS^S : 


CC 


'4.C -'^BBC- 


CC 


^■L « 


:' <rc 


-«-«.CL\i ««C 


c c 


ktC* ACT 


c< 


£%?« 


< <- < 


-«•. <«: .«c 


CC'X 


CC : «KT 


(.. C^ 


sac -be:. 


cc< 


.cdC ■ «C 


c <: 


.<c.<««2' « 


'"si" <■ 


ccccSE^ *£ 


cc 


'cOCs?-: «KT 


CC 


cC Sl§& 5P 


(C 


aQC.. *c 


■ < «C 


< cc c<aac_ *3 


( C c 


; '-cc<ac- * 




<: c<c^^fe:- 




ic~< : <x <g&scl «. 


CC 




cC, 


CC<39C C 


CC( 


CC<8^^ Cc 


xC 


L<X <3§fc'.C<' 


c <; r^s 


• c 


3«;1 


LsE 


t<MLv_W3 


c < 


«£C CfHKw£C 



CC CCCCCjCC-C 



^1% 

CCCC CC^CCC«Lj 



c: 'C* 'c c<c«-. «ggg 

r> <CC CCC<^ 



csrcSc 



ccr^s:^ 
cccc: 
c cc .c: 

c C *T - 



C 4B» 



C ccw_ 



crcccccc 



Tc«ccr<< 

cCcccxccc > 

CCccC«IOCC' 
C'VCCCOXC 

<r^tc^rcccc- 

fe'(C^CC f 

• «&K«*saccc< 

"« : vg^ocrcc c 

£iaccccc- 



C CCC:. - 

■c etc 
c ccc ^ 

CCCCC^ 



:cccc 

CCCCC <S3 
c? c c&<^ -" 



Tic <Kl«r <jB3c^CI C<_ 

JoCCL ^C^_ 

:;^C.crvC^C': 

^cc^c^c^: 
ccc" cccc-aac" 

L.<C c«i <2Ccc -flSEKT 

" tec jcasi «^; 

1 <T«L ccc cccc^ac 
/ CCc. C<C_cC CCCc ■ 

L_lc:<S ccrccoccr^Br^: 



^Kfe: -.CL:CC 



«: «c- cccccru 

CT<v CC^TCCCc 

*C_ f C:v COCCCCC 

— ' CCCC CCC< 

2 CCcCCCc 

■L-« CCCC<TCC< 

C CCCCC cCCC 

CCCC C CCCC 



cC «< 
cC e f ^ 
cc cc 

R cC C« 

-cc cc; 
, CC'. exc 

^cc <^^ 



cr dc 
c ■ trscr- 

c. <xcr ■ 

vc <c^, 
C CBC 






CjcTC* 
C<if 



<s: c ccc 
c-c cc< 
c < c« 

c --C Ccv- 

Ccrc^ 

c trc 

c cc< 

C c CCC 

< .c ccc 

C C CCC 



c ccr«n 

C CCC 

c CCCC< 

c ccc«r 

-c cere 



circfltr 



CcXCc?:; 
cccccc 

CCCCCCC i 
CCrjCccc 

CCtfeci Cc:ccCCC 



A c4rc«ic^ 



^T - ciccc «:c 

"_cccc cc Cc <sjd:: ^CiCCcci 
r ^c<c- cc cc «c igscck 'ccc C< 

?<^!3<yy^c:^5^r-cc: 



SBE^.'«5 



fffl 

1 




SEE STORY OF " BILLY EADFOEd's LOST PUP. 



^ VTi 



SPREES AND SPLASHES; 



OK, 



DROLL RECOLLECTIONS OF TOWN AND 
COUNTRY. 



A BOOK FOE RAILROAD RIDES AND ODD 
HALF-HOURS. 







By HENRY MORFORD 






NEW YORK: 
Carleton. Publisher,, 413 Broadway. 

(LATE ECDD & CABLETON.) 

M DCCC LXIII. 



1* 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the >ear 1863, 

By GEO. W . CARLETON, 

In the Clerks Office of the District Ccirt for the Southern District of New 

York. 



% 



1 









NATHANIEL JARVIS, Jr., Esq., 

CLERK OF THE COURT OF COMMON PLEAS OF THE CITT AND 
COUNTY OF NEW YORK, — 

rOPULAR OFFICIAL, 

QUIET HUMORIST AND GENIAL GENTLEMAN,— 

THIS COLLECTION 

OF 

THESONAL RECOLLECTIONS 

OF 

DROLL SCENES AND ODD CHARACTERS 

IN 
VARIOUS RELATIONS OF LIFE AND SOCIETY, 



iftesptctfullii ©rtn'taltir. 



HIS SINCERE FRIEND AND SERVANT, 

THE AUTHOR. 



New York, January, 1863. 



Contents 



PAGB 

I.— Billy Burton's Botheration ; or, Two 

Sells for One Theatre 11 

II. — Old Joe Bramby 28 

III. — Sympathy and Small Change 38 

IV. — Ten Dollars' Worth of Dog \ . . 42 

V. — Why Tom Burt Didn't Swear 51 

VI. — Billy Radford's Lost Pup 55 

VIT. — Captain Crabbe and His Speculation in 

Harness 71 

VIII. — Bursting Up a Quorum 78 

IX. — Piloting Without a License 88 

X. — The Major's Horse-Operation 97 

XL — The Long Branch Murder 105 

XIL— Editorial Phrenology at Midnight 113 

XIIL— My Last Sunday on Skates 124 

XIV. — The Great Shortport Burglary 130 

XV. — Extra Drumming at the Old Broadway 136 

XVI.— The Two-Forty Funeral 144 

XVII.— Sam Brown's Mush 152 



VI 11 CONTENTS* 

PAGE 

XVIII.— Paying Off a Partner 1 GO 

XIX. — How Watty Briggs Died, and How Squike 

Horton Resurrected Him 175 

XX. — Starvation by Railroad 187 

XXL— Two Big Shots at Wild-Fowl 193 

XXII.— Deacon Jones' Mince-Pies 200 

XXIII. — Surrogate Cooke's Urgent Reason 208 

XXIV. — The Swindle on Postmaster Fowler 213 

XXV. — Fun Among the Boot-Blacks 213 

XXVI. — Bill Fraser's Big Luxury 232 

XXVII. — Hats and Coats at Donation Visits 238 




Preface. 



In one respect this collection of sketches is believed to be 
different from any previous product of the American press — all 
the incidents related being personal to the writer, or within 
his knowledge to intimate acquaintances. No other excuse 
can be offered for the too frequent use of the pronoun tl I " 
throughout the volume. Although some of tlie characters in- 
troduced have belonged to the rougher and less careful classes 
of society, whose words were not alvva}^s picked and measured, 
care has been taken to use as few rough expressions as possi- 
ble without sacrificing naturalness, — and none that could be 
offensive. Where well-known persons have been introduced, 
a thin veil has been drawn over their personality^ by slight 
changes of name, while the sound is generally near enough to 
enable friends to trace out the reality. Some of the sketches 
included have had circulation in various newspapers, while 
others have been written especially for this volume. It is 
hoped that both old and new may be found welcome visitors, 
in the present form, especially in those " odd half-hours" for 

1* 



X PREFACE. 

which longer stories are not acceptable. The writer begs to 
return his warm acknowledgments to the press for courtesies 
extended in previous ventures, and for the very kind and gen- 
erous manner in which this collection has been noticed in 
advance. 

New York City, January, 18G3. 




Sprees and Splashes. 



BILLY BURTON'S BOTHERATION; 

OR, 

TWO SELLS FOR ONE THEATRE. 

Perhaps the merriest winter of Burton's Theatre 
was the last of his personal management — the win- 
ter when Mathews, Brougham, "VValcot, E. L. Dav- 
enport and his wife, Polly Marshall, Lizzie Weston 
Davenport, and all that jovial crew, played there. 
The shadow of managerial failure, though it had 
already loomed over Burton, had not yet settled 
upon him ; and certainly no abler collection of stars 
and stock company was ever gathered, than that 
with which during that closing winter he fought the 
phantom. 

Mathews had finished his round of performances 
and gone away to Boston, late in the season ; but 
Brougham, AValcot and several others of the pro- 
minent actors yet lingered. The houses had been 
thin for a few days, and Burton felt the necessity 
( of raising some description of excitement. In this 
he was seconded by Brougham, who had been play- 
ing with the manager for two or three evenings in 



12 



" An Unwarrantable Intrusion," which all play- 
goers will remember as a piece of pure nonsense by 
Brougham, in which an old hunks is intruded upon 
by his daughter's lover in disguise, the whole farce 
crowded full of gags, and more than half the dia- 
logue in the mouth of each, shot at the audience in- 
stead of the other actor. 

Taking a hint from the roars of laughter which 
had greeted this in its re-production, Brougham 
concluded to get up something original of the same 
character, but much more extensive and ten times 
more impudent. The result which followed a con- 
ference between Brougham and Burton on the sub- 
ject, was that a new piece was underlined for pro- 
duction on the next Saturday evening, called : 
"This House to Be Sold." Naturally every one 
not in the secret supposed that the new piece, which 
was announced as a short one, was a farce having 
some kind of money-embarrassment of a house- 
owner, as the principal incident in its plot. 

There was a good house on Saturday evening, 
partially drawn, there is no doubt, by the announce- 
ment of the novelty, which was understood to be by 
Brougham. I have forgotten what were the two 
pieces which preceded the new production, though 
I remember there were three on the bills besides 
the " fair rose and expectancy." The leading 
piece may probably have been Brougham's " Co- 
lumbus," which never drew well, or Thomas Dunn 
English's " Life Among the Players," which neither 
drew well nor deserved to do so. However that 
may have been, the curtain went down on the sec- 
ond piece, and all the house waited half an hour or 
thereabouts for its rising on "This House to Be 
Sold." 

At length the gods in the gallery began to stamp 
and " hi ! hi !" a little, the intermission being a 



BILLY BTJRTON ? S BOTHERATION. 13 

shade too long for their exacting tastes. Ten mi- 
nutes longer of waiting, and the gods in the gal- 
lery were joined by the audience in the boxes and 
the parquette. They, too, were getting impatient. 
The stamping and shouts were changing into very 
decided marks of disapprobation, when the curtain 
was finally drawn back at the right, and Moore, the 
stage-manager, made his appearance in front, mak- 
ing a low bow to the audience. Silence was secur- 
ed after a moment, and Moore, who seemed out of 
breath and flustered, was enabled to secure a hear- 
ing. 

" Ladies and gentlemen, we are really under the 
necessity of begging your indulgence for a few mo- 
ments longer. This piece has some very extensive 
and complicated machinery, and I am sorry to say 
that some of it has got temporarily out of order. If 
you will only be kind enough to wait a few mo- 
ments longer, we think it can be arranged !" and 
with another bow Moore slid himself off again at 
the st.ige right, amid some applause at the explan- 
ation, a few expressions of impatience, and not a 
few cries from the boys in the galleries : " Come, 
hurry it up!" "Lummoxes !" " Up with that rag !" 
and other complimentary East-side adjurations and 
insinuations. 

A few minutes more of waiting, with some noises 
and suppressed talking behind the curtain. Every- 
body began to get impatient, now, from the gallery 
gods to the gloved dandies in the boxes and the 
critical force in the front seats of the parquette. 
More stamping, "hi ! hi !"-ing, a little shouting and v 
a small proportion of muttering. A minute or two 
more and Moore once more made his appearance 
before the curtain, and again began to apologise. 
This time he was not quite so well received. A few 
hisses came, mingled with cries of " Oh, we've 



14 BILLY BURTON'S BOTHERATION. 

heard that before !" " Gas !" " If you're agoin' to 
raise the curtain, why don't you do it?" " Hurry up 
your cakes !" &c. Moore, in spite of the disturb- 
ance, began to say something like : 

" Ladies and gentlemen, I am really very sorry — 
very sorry — more hindrance — things gone wrong- 
hope you will excuse — bye-and-bye," etc. ; when 
out from the other side of the curtain rushed Wal- 
cot, his hair out of order, his face wearing a ludi- 
crous affectation of alarm, and looking, generally, 
as if he had just been scared out of a brush-heap. 
He caught Moore by the arm and pulled him aside. 
By this time the audience began to be reasonably 
impatient, but even more puzzled, and dead silence 
fell, in the effort to hear what Walcot was trying 
to say in a low tone to Moore, 

"Oh, we must do something!" the latter was 
heard to say. 

" What can we do?" asked Walcot, in a tone 
pretendedly suppressed, but loud enough to be 
heard back several seats. "How can we go on if 
the author — " 

" We must /" said Moore. " The audience have 
paid their money — " 

" That's so /" roared out some enthusiastic indi- 
vidual who fancied he had heard what was not in- 
tended for his ears. 

"Tell the audience," suggested Walcot. 

" No, you tell them, if it has got to be done !" 
answered Moore. 

Each hereupon tried to push the other forward 
and to fall back himself, for a minute or two, while 
the tumult in the house thickened and general dis- 
satisfaction began to be pretty evident. Neither 
had yet said a word to the audience in explanation, 
when Brougham plunged suddenly out from behind 
the curtain at the stage right. He, too, had dis- 



15 



hevelled hair, and looked as if there might have 
been a sort of general scrimmage behind the scenes, 
in which he had been considerably a sufferer. At 
sight of him — he being generally understood to be 
the author of the unfortunate piece, quiet fell once 
more ; and John, rushing up to the footlights, and 
laying his hand on his natty waistcoat with a low- 
bow, began to make an explanation something like 
the following, in a drawling, puffing voice, and the 
most Broughamy style imaginable : 

" Ladies and gentlemen, I really don't know how 
to address you at this moment. I really don't, upon 
my soul. Such an unfortunate circumstance I 
never saw in the whole course of my life. We have 
here a most excellent piece — a wonderful piece, but 
we can't do anything, you know, of course we can't 
—without the piece itself. Unfortunately the au- 
thor, who is the most timid and nervous man I ever 
saw in the whole course of my life, seems to have 
got angry at the little delay about the machinery, 
and he has gone off home." 

" What of that ?" said a young man in the par- 
quette. " We don't want him. Go on with the 
piece !" 

'* That is the difficulty, ladies and gentlemen," 
said Brougham. "I never knew such a thing in 
the whole course of my life ; but the play has been 
produced a little in a hurry, nobody knows it quite 
as he should do, and he has carried off the piece 
and all the parts in his pocket !" 

At this announcement some only laughed, a few 
hissed, some others stamped, Brougham apparently 
became discouraged and mysteriously disappeared ; 
while Moore and Walcot retained their places in 
front of the curtain, gesticulating to each other and 
muttering something that nobody could understand. 

Now matters began to be seriously complicated 



16 



among the audience. Pretty well forward in the 
dress circle, on the audience-right, sat an eminent- 
ly respectable-looking old man, white-headed and 
white-whiskered, and supporting his gloved hands 
on an immense gold headed ebony cane. He look- 
ed as if he might once have been a military or naval 
officer — was evidently wealthy — and no more com- 
plete incarnation of propriety and respectability 
could have been imagined. By his side sat a pretty, 
bright-looking, dark-haired girl of eighteen or twen- 
ty, well-dressed, and apparently bearing the relation 
of a daughter to the old gentleman. 

During all the delays, apologies and explanations, 
the old gentleman had been observed to be very 
nervous and fidgety, and once or twice he had only 
been restrained by the expostulations of the girl, 
who kept her hand confidingly on his arm, from 
getting up and making some kind of a demonstra- 
tion. When Brougham made the announcement 
that the play could not go on because the author 
had eloped with the piece —the man with the white 
hair and whiskers could no longer be restrained 
even by the efforts of his handsome daughter. He 
started to his feet, his gold-headed cane firmly 
grasped in his right hand, and giving it an em- 
phatic thump on the floor and clearing his throat 
with an emphasis which drew all eyes upon him, 
he broke out in a full clear tone which could be 
heard from parquette to gallery : 

" If there is nobody else here to protest against 
this imposition, 1 do ! I have paid my money to 
come here to see a play, and I don't mean to be 
put off with a row in the place of one." 

All attention in the house was of course by this 
time withdrawn from the stage and concentrated 
on the stout old man, in spite of the fact that the 
group in front of the curtain had been increased 



BILLY BUETON'S BOTHERATION. 17 

by the presence of Manager Burton himself, who 
came out bare-headed, as if alarmed at the inexpli- 
cable imbroglio, and anxious to make some kind 
of an apology. But if the audience did not notice 
him, the old man in the boxes did, for he addressed 
his next remark directly to the manager. 

u I call upon the manager of this theatre," he 
went on, holding up a bill of the performance in 
his left hand and slapping it with the cane in his 
right — " to put a stop to this most extraordinary 
proceeding. Here we are promised a play, sir !" 
and he looked square at Burton, " a play, and 
after we have paid our money to see it, and waited 
half an hour to have the curtain rise, we are in- 
formed that the author has carried off the play, and 
that we are only to have apologies. It's a swindle, 
sir ! a swindle ! the most disgraceful thing I ever 
saw !" 

" Oh, do sit down I" cried the girl, evidently in 
trepidation, and pulling him by the arm. 

" Officer !" sang out Burton, whose face had 
been working itself up to a terrible pitch of anger, 
" Officer ! is there anyone to keep order up there in 
the boxes ?" 

As he asked the question a policeman entered 
the door of the box, immediately behind the ex- 
cited paterfamilias, and approached him. An- 
other was seen at no great distance behind, also 
approaching the scene of disturbance. The atten- 
tion of the audience was now pretty equally divid- 
ed between the interlocutors on the stage and in 
the box. 

" Yes, sir, a swindle /" repeated the loud man in 
the box, decidedly, bringing down his cane on the 
floor with a thump that sounded over the whole 
house. 

" Officer, take that man out I" cried Burton, from 



18 



the stage. In a moment, the hand of the first po- 
liceman was laid upon his collar. 

"Take your hand off my collar!" cried the as- 
saulted individual, enraged. "I have paid my mo- 
ney to come in here, and have a right to protest 
against this swindle." 

Some cried " shame!" some "don't hurt him!" 
others " take him out !" in the midst of which gen- 
eral disturbance a man who looked and spoke mar- 
vellously like Pat Hearn, the odd and generous- 
hearted gambler who died three or four years ago — 
rose up in a private box to the audience left, and 
commenced an exordium both to Burton and the 
disturber, in that mixture of short jerk, mumble 
and nasal drawl, for which he was so well known 
during his later years. 

" Oh don't, Burton, that's too bad, you know. 
It's a real shame — mumble — mumble — to take a 
fellah out when the play isn't done — mumble — 
mumble. Why can't you be still, you know ? — 
mumble — mumble. Gad ! what's the use of all this 
muss? Aha! — mumble — mumble," and so on until 
he seemed to be exhausted and subsided again into 
the corner of his box. 

Meanwhile, after a short struggle on the part of 
the white-haired man to retain his seat in the box, 
he had been dragged away by the two policemen, 
and disappeared, accompanied by the girl, By 
this time Brougham had again made his appear- 
ance in front of the curtain, and in a short speech, 
terribly mixed up, between Brougham and Burton, 
the announcement was made that the play of "This 
House to be Sold" had been duly performed, the 
house having been really " sold " most effectually. 

By this time, too, those who had not before been 
sufficiently well aware of the personality of the 
actors and up to the tricks of the Brougham reper- 



19 



toire, to understand the whole thing from the be- 
ginning — began to have an inkling of the truth. 
There was no play, and the " selling of the house" 
consisted in "selling" the theatrical "house" (au- 
dience), with the series of tricks and apparent blun- 
ders here recounted. The young man in the par- 
quotte was, if I remember correctly, Bishop, who af- 
terwards played Uncle Pete at the Winter Garden ; 
the old man in the box was Mark Smith, one of the 
best of stage old-men, magnificently got up for the 
purpose ; the young lady who played his daughter 
was pretty little Miss Miller, who was so acceptable 
a member of the company during the latter part of 
Burton's management, and afterwards when the 
theatre became the Metropolitan ; the counterfeit 
Pat Hearn in the private-box was Brougham, who 
had got himself up in a capital imitation of the 
gambler, and slipped in and slipped out again with- 
out being perceived ; and the policemen were both 
stage counterfeits sent in front for the occasion. 

The " House to be Sold " really went off very 
well ; and the applause, on the first night, when the 
explanation had been given so that everybody 
knew exactly "where the laugh came in," was up- 
roarious. Brougham and Burton felicitated them- 
selves on " a hit," and though there was not much 
money in it, they had really made one. 



n. 



Near me, in the parquette, on that Saturday 
evening, sat a queer genius, connected with the 
newspaper and theatrical world of this city, whose 
name may be set down as Sam Long, from the fact 
that he might not thank me to be more explicit in 



20 

the designation. He knew actors, actresses, stage 
and stage-tricks, as well as could be desired, and 
had burned his lingers — so report said, — in trying 
that gross impossibility — making money out of a 
theatrical manager. If he had a more especial pas- 
sion than any other (people who pretend to know 
him best, say that he has not changed in that parti- 
cular) — it was for a clear, well-defined, outrageous 
practical joke ; and timid people who were aware 
of his proclivity sometimes steered clear of him to 
avoid the peril. 

It. is scarcely necessary to say (and that of course, 
is my principal reason for saying it) that both Sam 
and myself was well aware, before-hand, what 
" selling the house " was to be. Sam not only 
chuckled drily over the perplexity of the audience, 
but seemed at times to be doing a little private and 
extra chuckling on his own account. I remarked, 
when the affair was over, that it had gone off well 
— better than I had expected. 

" Yes," said Sam, " but not half so well as it can 
be made to go off. See if I do not add a tail to that 
performance in a day or two, that will improve it 
remarkably !" 

"How?" I asked. 

" Never mind, now," answered Sam. "Too many 
people around at present to talk about it. Let me see 
— yes — drop in here again about Tuesday evening 4 
if they keep on playing it, and see the after-piece." 

I promised that I would do so, and we separated. 
I did dr<>p in again on Tuesday evening, the "House 
to be Sold " being yet on the bills ; and I saw the 
after-piece. 

Sam had gone to work pretty extensively and 
with a good deal of judgment, in arranging his dra> 
niatls pefsonw. His first requirement was a good 
green countryman^ and he had found him in the 



21 



person of the good and brave little Charley L , 

a master's mate in the United States Navy, who 
had done good service in the old Jamestown, who 
was then off duty in this city, and who afterwards 
caught the seeds of his death, which occurred only 
two years ago — bravely heading a company of 
the marine brigade in the march through the dead- 
ly swamps of Paraguay. Poor L was not only 

the best little fellow in the world, but he was also 
the gayest and the merriest. I have never known 
a better mimic — his comedy accomplishments having 
been put into hard training years before on the 
stage of the old Broadway, of which one of the most 
accomplished actresses (Mrs. Abbott,) was his near 
relative. 

Second in the forces Sam Long had mustered for 
the occasion, was a clerk in a well-known book-house, 
named for this occasion, Hooper, who had not been 
so long absent from the country air in which he was 
born, as to have forgotten its rough drolleries. Then 
it seemed that Long had skimmed the down-town 
printing-offices for a dozen or two of reasonably well- 
dressed wild fellows, all of whom he had thoroughly 
drilled for their role of that evening. It afterwards 
appeared that he had made use of his acquaintance 
among the policemen, to have the captain of the 
precinct and one or two aids present in plain clothes, 
to guard against the possibility of a real riot grow- 
ing out of his venturous operation, while the patrol- 
men on duty were properly tutored not to meddle 
unless there was absolute necessity. 

All this was duly communicated to me by Long, 
when I reached the theatre on that evening. He 
had his reserve corps (the printers' boys) duly 
posted a little in the rear of the place where Mark 

Smith had his nightly position; while L and 

Hooper were to perform generally in the lower part 



22 



of the house until the time for the catastrophe. 
Long held, I believe, some position at that time, 
in connection with the city government, and he had 
probably made known the sport in advance to so 
many of the officials as he judged to be " safe," for 
the parqnette was dotted half over with well-known 
heads from the municipal and fire departments. 

It was part of Long's plan, of course, that he 
should not be conspicuous. Inveterate scamps al- 
ways adopt that precaution. He had accordingly 
taken his seat in the parquette, a few seats back 
from the orchestra, where' he presented, for the time, 
the lugubriously sober appearance of a Methodist 
parson who had surreptitiously dodged into the 
theatre and was trying to escape observation. It 
was necessary that the two principal actors should 
make themselves conspicuous before all the house ; 
and when I reached the theatre they were doing so 
at the top of their ability. 

L , dressed in an exaggerated Yankee suit 

that was almost too broad for deception, and play- 
ing the character as well as Joe Jefferson ever did 
in his life — was seated on the front seat of the par- 
quette, staring at the ceiling, eyeing the house — 
mouth ludicrously opened and tongue going (when 
ever the curtain was down) in observations that 
might have been fresh from Wethersfield. This 
performance he varied by drafts on his exhaustless 
pockets of apples, candies and oranges, the debris 
of which lay around him like the gleanings after a 
harvest. Beside him sat Hooper, playing the char- 
acter of the country bumpkin who had been Hulf 
civilized by some years in the city, and explaining 
to his wondering companion all about the marvel- 
lous splendors of the house and what they were go- 
ing to do when they pulled up that big curtain. ^ 

All the parties in the parquette, within hearing 



23 

of the Yankee blunderings of L and the whim- 
sical instructions of Hooper, were smothered in 
laughter more than half the time during the inter- 
mission, and no small proportion of it during the 
playing of the first piece, which was, I believe, on 
this occasion, " Columbus." They were, conse- 
quently, in a good state of mental preparation for 
that which was to follow. 

Finally the curtain went down on the opening 
piece, and .the intentional blunders of the " House 
to be Sold " commenced. The reputation of the 
" sell " had now extended over the city, and prob- 
ably all present, of their own knowledge or informed 
by others, were aware of the real character of the 
pretended malcontents among the audience. There 
was, consequently, none of the real unquiet and 
disturbance of the first evening, and everything 
would have passed off in the most unexceptionable 
manner, but — . 

As the curtain went down on " Columbus " I saw 

that L and Hooper left their place in front of 

the parquette and strolled out, the impromptu Yan- 
kee gaping, if possible, more broadly than ever. 
Sam Long kept his position in the centre of the par- 
quette. Mark Smith and Miss Miller had changed 
position for that evening, and come on the other 
side of the hou^e, but the "forces " had recognized 
them at once, and adroitly shifted ground to the 

lobby in the rear. Thither slowly wended L 

and Hooper, the Captain and Lieutenant, and thither 
I followed them at a distance. 

Everything went off in the most stereotype order, 
up to the time of Mark Smith's rising to make his 
protest. I was then two or three seats away to the 
left, and had a fine opportunity for observation. 

L and Hooper had gradually edged down the 

aisle, very near to Smith, followed by the "recruits" 



24 



and unobserved by the actors. L was appar- 
ently more gapingly verdant than ever, and scat- 
tered his " darns " and " goshes " with a looseness 
that was thoroughly refreshing to any one in the 
secret. 

Mark, as the white-headed old gentleman, rose to 
deliver his protest, and slammed down his cane 
with due energy. Burton dodged out from behind 
the curtain and gave the order to the sham police- 
man to "take that man out." The policeman seized 
Mark by the collar and commenced to drag him to- 
wards the door, the assailed man commencing his 
protest, as usual, that " he had paid his money and 
was not going out." Not less to his surprise than 
to that of nearly all the others around him, he found a 
champion not bargained for in the programme. 

" Paid his money? yes, I'll be darned if I didn't 
see him, and he ain't agoin' out o' here, neither !" 
broke out a strong nasal voice of the regular Weth- 
ersfield twang, and the small Yankee made a lunge 
at the other side of Smith from that grasped by the 
policeman, and*attempted to hold him back. 

"Don't, don't! let him take me out! it's all a joke!'' 
cried Mark, who saw at once that some greenhorn 
must be deceived into a belief of the reality of the 
persecution, of course. 

" Look a-here, boys, help a fellar, won't ye I" 

sung out L , who had got hold of one of the big 

legs of Mark, and held him, the policeman still try- 
ing to drag him out, now assisted by the second. 
This appeal was answered by a forcible rush on the 
part of Hooper, shouting, " No you don't, policers ! 
You ain't a-going to drag out folks wot's peace- 
able !" He made a lunge at the second policeman, 
.stooping his head as he did so, and carried him oif 
his legs. By this time the recruits had rushed down, 
and in the rush away went Mark and the first po- 



25 



liceman on the floor, Miss Miller only being saved 
by the arm of a gentleman near, who drew her out of 
the melee. In a moment every person in the box 
was on foot in alarm, and almost at the same in- 
stant the audience sprung up in consternation all 
over the house. To outsiders the scene must have 
been fearful, and the prospect of a dangerous riot 
wnminent. From my point of view nothing could 
be seen in the neighborhood of Mark and his assail- 
ants, but a heap of people squirming through and 
over each other, like a basket .of very lively eels. 
Nobody was being hurt, of course, for that was not 
part of Sam Long's programme ; but the whole 
affair looked immensely like it. 

I had time, in the midst of my observation of the 
central picture, to catch a glimpse of two other 
points. On the stage stood Burton, white as a sheet, 
under the impression that his. "sell" had been mis- 
understood, and that a riot had begun which would 
possibly cost some bloodshed and end in the demo- 
lition of his theatre. He was trying to make him- 
self heard in explanation, but the house was Bed- 
lam and he could not speak. John Brougham had 
forgotten his part of Pat Hearn, and rushed on the 
stage in the peculiar make-up of that character ; 
while the noise had frightened all behind the cur- 
tain, and besides Moore and Walcot a dozen others 
were peeping out in that quarter. 

My other glance of observation was directed at 
Sam Long. He stood calmly up in InVplace in the 
parquette, and surveyed the row in the boxes, with 
the air of saint and martyr. 

At this stage of the proceedings, the sham row 
having gone tar enough, the real police stepped in 

to prevent anything worse, and arrested L , 

Hooper and two or three others, whom they took 
around into Mercer street and dismissed in safety. 

2 



26 BILLY BURTON'S BOTHERATION. 

Mark and Miss Miller had been rescued and carried 
away, and Burton had been able to make the expla- 
nation, which he still thought to be necessary, to the 
audience — that " the man in the boxes had not been 
put out, and the whole tiling was a joke." 

He was interrupted by Sam Long, who stood up 
in the parquette, pointed his finger at the manager, 
and roared out — 

" Sold ! The house is sold— twice!" 

The roar of laughter which broke from all parts 
of the house, and a glimpse of Long's face, which 
he knew quite well enough tor comfort, seemed to 
tell Burton the whole story. The stage in front of 
the curtain was clear in a moment. 

Brougham, keen as he is generally, " didn't seem 
to see it." He left the theatre fully impressed with 
the fact that the piece had been performed a little 
too naturally, and that a genuine row had been 
the result. Perhaps he was undeceived by the re- 
ceipt of the following epistle, which L was cha- 
ritable enough to send him a few days after, and of 
which Sam Long yet retains a copy, at once as a 
trophy of one of his most successful practical jokes, 
and a memorial of the true-hearted young sailor : — 

" Mr. JonN Brougham : — Dear Sir : You don't ap- 
pear to know it, but you are sold! You remarked, 
in conversation with a friend yesterday, that k This 
House to be Sold ' was performed so well on Tues- 
day evening, as really to threaten serious results, as 
some ' green countryman ' bit at the bait, and at- 
tempted to prevent the expulsion of Mark Smith. 
It may be of interest for you to know that the 
' green countryman ' has known and laughed over 
the capital acting of Mark Smith, for years, as he 
has done at yours — and that there was not the least 
danger in the world of a row. All the affair was 



BILLY BURTON'S BOTHERATION. 27 

' put up,' in revenge for all your atrocious theatri- 
cal villainies, and the public and the players are 
square. The 4 house was sold,' and the auctioneers 
with it, at least on that evening. 
" Yours truly, 

" The Green Countryman." 

And that is the way in which Billy Burton's 
" botheration " took place, and how his " House 
was Sold " twice on the same evening. 




II. 

OLD JOE BR AM BY. 

Queerest among all the originals who have chanced 
to cross my way at one period or another, was Old 
Joe Bramby, of Bushy Hollow, whom I shall paint 
precisely as I remember to have seen and known 
him nearly a quarter of a century ago — it having 
been nearly that time since he felled his last tree 
and was himself felled by the axe of the great chop- 
per, Death. 

Old Joe was, as the last paragraph would indicate 
— a woodman, i. e., one of those poor men who made 
their daily living by felling trees and cutting them 
up in cordwood for market — toiling a life long on 
lands not their own — living poorly — faring hardly 
— but seeming to feel no trouble beyond an axe of 
bad temper or an occasional decline in the price per 
cord for chopping. A little cabin on a half-acre 
clearing in the Jersey back-woods, built of pine clap- 
boards, unceiled and miserably furnished, afforded 
him the home to which he retired with weary limbs 
and aching back, when the sun went down on his 
labor. A wife with the perpetual sick-headache 
and a frock of inevitable blue-calico, and half a 
dozen slattern children equally bareheaded and 
barefooted, made up his domestic jewels — jewels 
that would scarcely have been riches to one differ- 
ently born and nurtured. 



OLD JOE BEAMBY. 29 

An original in appearance was Joe — short and 
broad-framed, but thin, wiry and athletic, with skin 
tanned by exposure until it resembled a bowl of red 
earthen ; one shoulder drooped lower than the other 
— he said, from carrying the axe so much, when go- 
ing to and from his work, while others alleged that 
he had crushed down the lower shoulder with the 
logs of cordwood and fence-rails that he had " hook- 
ed," and carried home to his cabin after dark ; gray 
hair and bushy eye-browS (When I knew him,) and 
a cast in one eye, which always gave him the ap- 
pearance of looking in two directions at once and 
quizzing every one to whom he spoke. 

~No hero of romance was old Joe Bramby in his 
dress, for in winter, it was the coarse home-spun, 
and in summer the cheap cotton drilling, which 
suited his limited purse ; and his rough tarpaulin 
hat, the fancy for which he had no doubt caught 
from some relative who followed the sea — and his 
coarse boots, which were always patched, before 
thrown away, until, like the Yankee's jack-knife, 
the original was almost if not entirely lost — these 
were not changed, as were the leaves, at the advent 
of every spring and fall, but always did duty till 
sun, and storm, and hardship had brought them fair- 
ly to wreck and ruin. 

Yet a hero was Joe, and one widely known over 
the country. He had probably caused more broad 
horse-laughs than any other man of his day ; and his 
very appearance, even before he opened his mouth 
to speak, was often the signal for a guffaw of anti- 
cipation. 

Two things old Joe Bramby did in perfection. In 
the first place he stuttered — not painfully to the 
hearer, as so many men do, when one can scarcely 
resist the temptation to procure a stick and pry the 
imprisone 1 word out of the laboring mouth— but 



30 OLD JOE BRAMBY. 

calmly, slowly and beautifully. His language, in 
fact, would have lacked half the charm without the 
admixture of halt, jerk and stammer, which sent the 
words rolling out of his mouth like little pellets of 
drollery, tumbling over each other like kittens at 
play, and provoking a laugh on the gravest faces. 

the second of Joe's qualifications, and the one 
without which the other would have been as incom- 
plete and useless as half a pair of scissors — was his 
talent for romance. Let it? not be supposed that he 
lied, according to the proper acceptation of that 
word — told falsehoods with the wish and intention 
of having them believed, and thereby producing a 
deception. Nothing of this did old Joe — his coarse, 
manly character would have revolted at the idea. 
But he had an imagination which would have made 
his fortune, had he lived in the days of Cobb, South- 
worth and Ned Buntline, and gone into the busi- 
ness of depicting scenes that never took place on 
the earth. He merely romanced — exaggerated 
everything he attempted to tell — so whimsically 
and outrageously that deception was as impossible 
as un thought- of. 

"Where have you been all this week?" asked 
Burnett, the shop-keeper, who dealt in every de- 
scription of article known to trade, from a bar of 
soap to a bobbin-needle, and from a saw-horse to a 
silk handkerchief. Of course among the articles in 
which he dealt, axes were numbered, and Joe 
Bramby was occasionally a patron, lie had several 
acres of woodland not far from his residence, and 
had employed Bramby to chop off a portion of the 
timber. It seemed that he had not been seen in 
the woods for a week, and Buniett was anxious to 
know how the work was progressing. 

u Where have you been all this week ?" accord- 
ingly asked Burnett one morning when Joe made 



OLD JOE BRAMBY. 31 

his appearance. " I haven't seen anything of you 
about, and they say you have not been doing any- 
thing in the woods !" 

"D-d-do they?" stuttered Joe. "Well they're 
ab-b-bout right ! I haven't been c-c-choppin' m-m- 
much this w-w-week — I've been all over the c-c- 
country on a voyage of discovery." 

"Eh! after what?" asked Burnett. " Tour cow 
strayed away ?" 

"N-n-noi" said Joe. " B-b-burnett, do you re- 
member that axe you s-s-sold me a few d-d-days 
ago?" 

"Yes," answered Burnett. "What has that to 
do with your voyage of discovery !" 

" A g-g-good deal !" said Joe. " You'd have 
th-th-thought it did if you'd have seen me ch-ch- 
choppin' with it! I gr-gr-ground it up right sh- 
sh-sharp a week ago this m-m morning, and w-w- 
went out to the w-w-woods. I th-th-thought the 
axe was n-n-new, and I'd g-g-give it a ff-fair chance, 
so I t-t-tried it first on a v-v-very soft p-p-pine log. 
What d-d-do you think h-h happened ?" 

"Don't know!" answered Burnett. "What the 
devil did happen ?'* 

" Why, the c-c-cussedest catastrophe," said Joe 
— " that you ever h-h*-heard of in your 1-life. I 
struck t-t-two licks, and the th-th- third time I h-h- 
heard something sm-m-mash ! When I 1-1-looked 
down, there w-w-was the h-h-handle, and n-n-no- 
thing else !" 

" Well, it hadn't been in tight enough, and the 
axe had flown off, I suppose," said Burnett. " You 
ought to have wedged it in." 

44 Y-y-yes," said old Joe — " th-th-that would have 
b-b-been a good thing, if the st-t-tuff would only 
have st-t-tood it. I thought it h-h-had flew off the 
h-h-handle, and w-w-went to look for it. But j-j- 



32 OLD JOE BKAMBY. 

jest then I s-s-seen a sq-u-u-irrel come t-t-tumbling 
down ont of a t-t-tree, and I stopped to p-p-pick it 
np. What do yon th-th-think had hurt it !" 

"How do I know?" said Burnett, impatiently. 
"What had hurt it?" 

" A p-p-piece of that axe !" said old Joe. " It 
had f-f-flew up in the t-t-top of tiie tree, and c-c- 
cut the head off of the sq-u-u-irrel as clean as a 
whistle." 

" Wiiew !" said Burnett.' 

" Fact," said Joe. " And that w-w-wasn't the 
beginning ! The b-b-blue-jays and r-r-robbins came 
t-t-tumbling d-d-down out of the t-t-trees, and the 
1-1-limbs f-f-fell as if there had b-b-been a h-h-hail 
storm. I p-p-picked up s-s-six rabbits " 

" Oh, Lord !" said Burnett. 

" Y-y-yes, m-m-more than that," Joe went on. 
" Several qu-qu-quail and some p-p-partridges. The 
p-p-pieces of that a-a-axe had c-c-cleared the under- 
brush off of ab-b-bout two acres, and I've been p-p- 
picking up the g-g-game and f-f-finding the p-p- 
pieces, ever since I" 

The foundation of this stunner of a story of course 
was (and Burnett so understood it) that Joe had 
broken a piece of his axe the first time he used it, 
and had been at work somewliere else all the week. 

Stephenson, another country shopkeeper, was one 
night trying to sell Joe a pair of pegged boots. The 
old man gave the article offered a fair examination, 
and decided not to purchase. 

" Nice boots," said Stephenson. 

" Y-y-yes, very nice b-b-boots," said old Joe, 
" b-b-but I c-c-can't afford 'em !" 

" Why, they are as cheap as any they make," 
said Stephenson. " Only two dollars." 

" Y-y-yes, only I d-d-don't k-k-keep any h-h-hired 
man " returned Joe. 



OLD JOE BRAMBY. 33 

" Hired man ! what do you want of a hired man?" 
asked Stephenson. 

" W-w-well, I should w-w-want a hired man. if I 
b-b-bought them b-b-boots," said Joe, his eye twist- 
ing up with even a more comical leer than usual. 
"The 1-1-last p-p-pair of boots I h-h-had, pretty near 
ruined me." 

" Plow ?" asked Stephenson, who did not know 
old Joe quite so well as some of the other dealers. 

"W-w-why," said Joe — "all the t-t-time I w-w- 
wore them b-b-boots, I had to t-t-take two m-m-men 
along with me, witli h-h-hammers, one each side, to 
n-n-nail on the s-s soles every time 1 lifted my feet!" 

It may be supposed that at about that period 
Stephenson made some discoveries as to the char- 
acter of his customer, and that no more efforts 
were made, on that occasion, to sell him pegged 
boots. 

Holton, a large landed proprietor, at one. time em- 
ployed oldJoe to clear some land for him, at a con- 
siderable distance from his (Bramby's) residence, 
and near Holton's. As a consequence, old Joe was 
obliged to eat and sleep at Holton's for a few days, 
instead of going home — a change which was prob- 
ably no hardship. 

The time was winter, and the period that before 
stoves had been generallv introduced, and when 
cord-wood logs of full length were burned by the 
cart-load at a time, in immense old-fashioned tire- 
places. Holton had a large house, as well as a 
hospitable one, and was famed all over the country 
for the immense quantity of wood he consumed in 
his kitchen. But his house was famed for some- 
thing else, not quite so agreeable — every chimney 
smoked so that not a room could be occupied with- 
out the door being left open. Green, a comical 
government contractor, who occasionally visited 



34 OLD JOE BRAMBY. 

Holton to buy timber, remarked that the building 
must have been intended for a smoke-house, and 
that everybody smelt like a ham for a week after 
coming out of it. 

On the first night passed by Bramby at Holton 's, 
the old man was sitting before the big fire in the 
kitchen, smoking a short black pipe, and dilut- 
ing the room-full of oak and hickory smoke with 
a mixture of that of tobacco — when Holton came in 
to make some enquiries as to the chopping opera- 
tions in the woods, and took a seat near him. 

"Smoking, I see," said Holton. "Well, it's a 
good notion, for I'm sorry to say that the room does 
the same thing. In fact, all my rooms smoke — con- 
found 'em!' 

" Y-y-yes," answered old Joe. "There's a 1-1- 
little of a c-c-cloud in the room. Your h-h-house- 
keeper had to tt-take the b-b-bellowses a little 
while ago, and b-b-blow the smoke away from be- 
fore b-b-black Jim's f-f-face, before she could t-t tell 
w-w-whether it was h-h-him or m-m-rae, so as to s-s- 
send him out after a b-b back load of w-w-wood." 

Holton laughed, as he could not help doing, and 
some other remarks followed on the misfortune of 
having smoky-chimneys — when old Joe suggested: 

" They d-d-don't all know so m-m-much about 
m-m-managing smoky ch-ch-chimneys as I do, 
Squire, or they could c-c-cure 'em!" 

"Ah?" said Holton, with interest. "Did you 

ever see a smoky chimney cured ?" It is scarcely 

necessary to say that tfiis was before the day of 

•patent chimneypots and ventilators, or Holton 

would not have been likely to ask such a question. 

" Seen a sm-ni-oky chimney cured ?" said old Joe. 
"I should th-th-think I h-h-had. I had the w w- 
worst one in Seaboard c-c-county, once, and I c-c- 
cured it a little tt-too much !" 



OLD JOE BRAMBY. 35 

" How was that ?" asked Holton, who knew his 
customer well, and wanted no better sport than to 
draw him out. 

" Why, you s-s-see," said Bramby, settling him- 
self back in the chair and taking a long whiff at his 
pipe — "you s-s-see I b-b-built a little h-h-house out 
y-y-yonder at Wolf H-h-hollow, t-t-ten or t-t-twelve 
years ago. Joe B-b-bush, the f-f-fellow that b-b- 
built the chimneys, kept b-b-blind drunk three qu-u- 
arters of the time, and c-c-crazy drunk the other. 
I t-t-told him that I th-th-thought he w-w-would 
ha*e something w-w-wrong, b-b-but he stuck t-t-to 
it, and f-f-finished the h-h-house. Well, we m-m- 
moved in, and b-b-built a h're n-n-next m-m-morn- 
ing to boil the t-t-tea-kettle. A-a-all the smoke c-c- 
came out through the rr-room, and went out of the 
w-w- windows. N-n-not a devilish b-b-bit went up 
the f-f-flues. We t-t-tried it for two or three d-d- 
days, and it g-g-got worse and worse. B-b-bye and 
bye it c-c-come on to r-r-rain, and the rain b-b-be- 
gun to come d-d-down the chimney. It p-p-put the 
Hre out in a m-m-minute, and d-d-directly it c-c- 
come down by the p-p-pailfull. We h-h-had to get 
the b-b-baby off the f-f-floor as soon as we c-c-could, 
or it w-w-wonld have been drownded. In f-f-fifteen 
minutes the w-w-water stood knee-deep on the f-f- 
floor. Then I w-w-went out and t-t-took a look. It 
d-d-didn't rain fi-h-half so hard outside, and I p-p- 
pretty soon s-s-seen what was the m-m-matter. The 
d-d-drunken cuss had p-p-put the ch-ch-chimney 
wrong end up, and it d-d-drawed downwards ! It 
g-g-gathered all the r-r-rain within a h-h-hundred 
yards, and p-p-poured it down by the b-b-bucketfull." 

" Well, that was unfortunate," laughed Holton. 
" But what in the world did you do with the house ? 
Surely you never cured that chimney V s 






36 OLD JOE BRAMBY. 

" D-d-didn't I, though !" answered old Joe. " Yes, 
I d-d-did !" 

" How ?" asked Holton. 

" T-t-turned it the t-t-tother end up," said the in- 
.corrigible, " and then y-y-you ought to have s-s-seen 
how it drawed ! That w-w-was the way I c-c-cured 
it too much !" 

" Drew too hard ?" asked Holton. 

" W-w-well, Squire, you may j-j-judge for your- 
self," said old Joe. " P-p-pretty soon after we g-g- 
got the ch-ch-chimney d-d-done the other end up, I 
m-m-missed one of the ch-ch-chairs out of the ^--r- 
room, and d-d-directly I s-s-seen another of 'em s-s- 
scooting along t-t-towards the fire-place. N-n-next 
the t-t-table went, and I s-s-seen the b-b-back-log 
going up. Then I g-g-grabbed the old w-w- woman 
under one arm and the b-b-baby under t-t-tother, 
and started ; b-b-but just as I g-g-got to the d-d- 
door I seen the cat going across the f-f-floor, b-b- 
backwards, h-h-holding on with her claws to the c- 
c-carpet, and yelling awfully. It w-w-wasn't no use 
— I j-j-just seen her g-g-going over the t-t-top of the 
ch-ch-chimney, and that was the 1-1-last of her !" 

"Well, what did you do 'then?" asked Hoi con. 
" Of course you could'nt live in such a house !" 

" C-c-couldn't I, though !" answered old Joe. " But 
I d-d-did! I p-p-put a p-p-poultice on the j-j-jamb 
of the fire-place, and that d-d-drawed the tother w- 
w-way, so that we h-h-had "no more trouble." 

This was always regarded, in the neighborhood, 
as the crowning achievement of old Joe Bramby. 
Only one more instance, and that a brief one, need 
be given, as a taste of his quality. 

Bramby was pricing some umbrellas at a shop on 
Greenwich street, in this city, during one of his few 
visits to the metropolis. The salesman was expati 



OLD JOE BRAMBY. 37 

aiirig on the excellence of the article, when Joe sent 
him to the right-about with the inquiry : 

" H-h-how much will it 1-1-leak V 

" Why, not at all ?" indignantly said the sales- 
man. 

" C-c-cause I don't like 'em to 1-1-leak too much," 
said Bramby. " They're d-d-dangerous !" 

" How !" asked the astonished clerk. 

" I b-b-bought one n-n-not long ago," gravely pro- 
ceeded the old romancer, "and w-w-went out in the 
r-r-rain w-w-with it. I s-s-soon found that it was 
r-r-raining a cussed sight h-h-harder under the u-u- 
umbrella than it was outside, and if I h-h-hadn't 
folded it up and p-put it under my arm as qu-u-uick 
as I c-c-could, it would have d-d-drowned me !" 




III. 

SYMPATHY AND SMALL CHANGE. 



My friend Tom Brower went over to Hoboken 
one day last summer, just when the small financial 
troubles first began to come fairly upon the country. 
A lady friend of his from a distant town was visit- 
ing the city, and he was^under some sort of engage- 
ment to show her the lions. Among the lions she 
had hot seen, was Hoboken. She had never seen 
the Otto Cottage, whereat the band plays and the 
Teutonic damsels dance, while the swains who are 
not dancing with them discuss "zwei lager." She 
had never seen Fox Hill and the cricket-ground — 
never gazed upon the Elysian Fields, where the clubs 
play ball, and the yachts make their start on the 
morning of the great annual regatta of the silver 
tea-pot. She had never stood on the esplanade near 
Sybil's Cave and looked up the river to the Pali- 
sades, the steamboats and the sloops going (not the 
Palisades) in that direction. 

So Tom and his lady went to Hoboken, leaving 
by the steamer from the foot of Barclay street at 
live o'clock, P. M. They strolled to Fox Hill and 
the Elysian Fields, taking a look in at the Cottage 
as they went by. They admired the beauties or 
Nature everywhere, and the beauties of art about 
Castle Point particularly. They looked up the 
river and down the river, and heard the Armenia's 



SYMPATHY AND SMALL CHANGE. 39 

calliope playing " Life Let us Cherish " and several 
other things, as she came down past the city on her 
way from Albany. They peeped in at the Sybil's 

Cave, and 

Here they got hungry, as was not unnatural 
after a long walk and an early lunch. Thereupon 
they sat down on one of the benches, by one of the 
tables in the cool al fresco refectory in front of the 
Sybil's Cave, and ordered a lunch and a couple of 
cooling .drinks, with straws. Tom's bill, when he 
came to pay it, was only forty cents, which was rea- 
sonable enough, only that on fumbling in his pock- 
ets he found that he had only five cents in change ! 
Change was scarce (this was before the postage- 
stamp currency made it a drug) and ruled at fifteen 
per cent, premium in Wall street. But Tom had 
nothing else to do than to tender a bill, which he did 
— tendered it very tenderly indeed, for fear the mild 
Teuton of the refectory should scold. The Teuton 
did scold a little, and demanded change, which Tom 
declared himself unable to supply. Thereupon the 
Teuton, under the pressure of necessity, and with 
many observations showing how generous he was, 
took the one dollar bill and returned Tom two quar- 
ters and a ten cent piece in sterling. Tom put the 
change somewhat hurriedly into his pocket, and lug- 
ged his lady friend away under a sort of dim con- 
sciousness that he had been guilty of imposing upon 
good nature by presuming to take an evening lunch 
at the alfresco refectory in front of Sybil's Cave, 
without having the specie to liquidate the bill. 

Then Tom and his lady friend strolled leisurely 
down the river, towards the ferry. 

When Tom and his lady friend reached the ferry, 
and he attempted to pay their ferriage over by the 
thoroughly seasoned (about forty seasons) and alto- 



40 SYMPATHY AND SMALL CHANGE. 

gether reliable steamer Newark, to the foot of Canal 
street — 

He found that his generous and self-sacrificing 
friend at the al fresco refectory in front of the Sy- 
bil's Cave, had stuck him with one pewter quar- 
ter and one lead ten cent piece. 

Whereupon he altered his mind considerably as 
to the kind spirit which had been displayed, and his 
lady friend laughed in the most consoling manner. 

It was dusk when Tom and his lady friend reach- 
ed Broadway at Canal street, and as they were go- 
ing to Wallack's Theatre and the hour was late, 
they rode up. 

The stage-driver felt insulted at the proffer of a 
bill, and demanded change. Tom felt hurt at the 
demand, alleging that he had none, and appealing 
to the passengers in proof that he was ill-used. 
"When he had sufficiently excited the sympathy of the 
passengers, and got the driver too much flustered to 
make any very close examination of what he got 
instead of a bill — Tom suddenly discovered, l\v 
searching bis pockets, that he had a ten cent piece 
and two pennies, and passed them up through the 
hole. The driver stuck them into the box with a 
chuckle, which said very plainly : "Olio, Mr. Pas- 
senger! you did not get a bill on me, that time!" 
which was very true, but the ten cents — ahem ! 

Tom and his lady friend went to Wallack's to see 
Billy-Florence and his wife in "Temptation" and 
"Fra Diavolo." During one of the intermissions 
Tom went down into the saloon, having a thirsty 
throat, no doubt induced by the buffalo-tongne he 
had eaten at lunch. Just as he approached the 
counter, one of the shyster fraternity was swallow- 
ing a glass of beer, price six cents, and tendering a 
dollar oill in payment. Of course the bar-keeper 
was indignant, and asked the shyster sharply whe- 



SYMPATHY AND SMALL CHANGE. 41 

tlier he had no change. The shyster said that he 
had -not, and the bar-keeper, with a look of intense 
disgust upon his face, told him to " take his bill and 
clear out !" 

Tom sympathetically approached the bar-keeper, 
asked him whether there were many of those fellows 
who were mean enough to take advantage of the 
scarcity of change to tender bills in payment for a 
purchase of six cents when specie commanded a 
premium of fifteen, and bitterly denounced the con- 
duct of any man who could commit such an outrage 
on the integrity of retail mercantile transactions. 

The bar-keeper looked grateful for the sympathy, 
and said to himself: "There is a man who has the 
true principles of integrity at heart ! He would 
not be caught doing such a thing!" 

Of course not ! 

Under the fog he had raised by his sympathy, 
Tom succeeded in passing the pewter quarter on 
the bar-keeper for a julep, and effected his retreat 
in good order. 

So much for small change, and so much for sym- 
pathy, as Sir Peter Teazle might have told us short- 
ly after his great interview with Joseph Surface. 



IV. 

TEN DOLLABS' WORTH OF DOG. 

An occurrence of a few months ago leads me to 
doubt whether all the dog abstractions are con- 
ducted by ragged boys and scoundrelly " dog-fan- 
ciers." Pointers may therefore sometimes point a 
moral, setters be set turning the wheel of popular 
merriment, bull-dogs be made responsible for blun- 
ders, and even a worthless cur be the means of a 
comical occurrence. The parties in thi3 dog-opera- 
tion are well known to most men of business on the 
street ; but the price I must pay for the privilege of 
being allowed to retail the story at all (no canine 
pun intended) — is of course a total concealment of 
the names involved. 

I may call my principal actor Tom Ernest, from 
the double reason that it is not by any means his 
name, and that the surname has a spice of the Ger- 
man, to which class of adopted citizens, either him- 
self or through his parentage, my friend Tom be- 
longs. He is a good-looking fellow of thirty, part- 
ner in a commercial house not a hundred miles from 
the post-office — a jolly good fellow in every particu- 
lar — and the least trifle in the world gay, though he 
has been for a few years married to a charming wife 
who should have cured him of any rapid predilec- 
tions. He lives in very comfortable quarters in a 
street not very far from Union Square ; and his fain- 



WORTH OF DOG. 43 

ily circle is added to, both in numbers and happi- 
ness, by the presence of a very, charming sister-in- 
law, who is quite as full of mischief as the laws of 
society will possibly allow. 

I met Ernest coming out of a well-known restau- 
rant and lunch-room, not far from his place of busi- 
ness, at the time referred to. His face was stretched 
to nearly twice its usual width, and he was indulg- 
ing in the luxury of an unmistakeable chuckle 
which shook him to the ends of his boots. I am 
fond of chuckles, when I know what they are about 
and do not find them confined to the capacity of 
one. So I laid violent hands upon Tom, and par- 
tially shook out of him the secret of his merriment, 
albeit he informed me that he had just promised^ 
" never to say a word about it as long as he lived." 
Dog was, as might have been expected, at the bot- 
tom of the affair. 

It appears that Tom, his wife, and the mischiev- 
ous sister-in-law before mentioned, had been mak- 
ing an evening call at the house of a merchant do- 
ing business in the same street with Ernest — the 
house being only a few blocks away from his own 
domicil. The merchant, who may for the present 
rejoice in the rare appellation of Jones, goes over 
to the country in the bird-season, and is particularly 
choice in the breed of some setters and pointers 
which he keeps in cosy kennels in the back yard. 
He is reported to have paid fabulous prices for 
some of these peculiar animals, and generally sup- 
posed — money apart — to have nearly as ardent an 
affection for his canine breed as he holds for his 
family — the latter remark not being at all intended 
to disparage his domestic attachments. 

Tom and the ladies with him were going to walk 
home, and they had already made their adieux, de- 
scended the front steps and had the door shut be- 



44 TEN DOLLARS' WORTH OF DOG. 

hind them — when a very fine pointer that Tom 
knew was worth one or two hundreds in his friend's 
estimation — emerged from the front area. He had 
not been duly incarcerated in his kennel for the 
night, through some inadvertence; and when the 
servant-girl closed the basement door for the night, 
our pointer had been left out in the area, subject to 
all the accidents and escapes incident to the canine 
fraternity. Hearing the sound of voices, lie had 
probably come up the area steps to ask in dog-lan- 
gnage that he might be returned to his old quarters, 
as the traditional old prisoner of the Bastile did 
after his few hours' indulgence in the free sunshine. 

Tom Ernest, who loves dogs, patted the pointer 
en the head, said "nice dog" as usual, and was 
about going up the steps again to ring and inform 
the family of the position of the truant — when the 
merry sister-in-law laid her hand suddenly on his 
arm. 

" Stop, Tom ! did you ever steal anything?" 

" Humph ! rather a hard question to ask of a mer- 
chant!" answered Tom, surprised. " Why ?" 

" Couldn't you steal that dog ?" asked the young 
mischief, as innocently as if she had been suggest- 
ing the most orderly proceeding in the world. 

" What do you mean ?" asked Tom. 

" Mean ? why," answered the tempter — " steal the 
dog — hook him, if you like the word any better. 
Coax him along home with us, or may be you could 
carry him. Shut him up*' somewhere, in the pot- 
closet or the coal-cellar, and keep him snug. See 
what fun there would be in old Jones looking for 
him all over town !" 

"Humph! eh? well, the idea isn't so bad!" said 
Ernest. 

" Shame, Tom ! to think of such a thing !" said 
the prudent and practical wife. 



45 



u Shame ? I don't see the shame," said the mis- 
chievous sister-in-law, with a pout that might have 
been seen if the night had been a little less dusky. 
" Only a joke, and serve old Jones right ! What 
business has he to keep dogs stuck away in his 
back-yard, if he don't want somebody to steal 
them?" 

" Well, I am just going to take that dog along!" 
said Tom, to whose vision the joke had now grown 
into most tempting proportions. " Just keep still, 
and see that none of them open the door or peep 
through the blinds. The dog knows me, and I think 
he will come along without much difficulty. Here, 
Spot ! poor fellow !" 

The pointer seemed pleased with the attention, 
but when the experiment was tried of inducing him 
to follow, he hung back, as if he had not quite 
made up his mind as to the act of secession. There- 
upon Tom would probably have abandoned the pro- 
ject, but that the incarnate female mischief had a, 
long scarf off her neck in a moment, and deposited 
it in his hands, with a hint that " there was some- 
thing to lead him with." 

The pointer did not make serious objections to 
the application of the scarf, and in a moment he 
was safely tethered and following the party — Tom 
with some idea that he might be arrested for dog- 
stealing, his wife heartily ashamed of him for the 
first time in her life, and the sister-in-law nearly 
choking with laughter at intervals, in view of the 
ridiculous character of the whole affair, and the an- 
ticipation of Jones' grief and astonishment at the 
loss of his canine treasure. 

Half an hour afterwards the captive w T as duly 
installed in the coal vault, as the tempter had sug- 
gested — amply provided with clean straw and sup- 
plied with food enough to have driven him into a 



46 



WORTH OF DOG. 



dyspepsia if he had only consumed it. There, faith- 
fully waited upon by the fair cause of his abduction, 
who would not have permitted hitn to suffer under 
any consideration — the pointer passed the next sixty 
hours, till the second act of the canine drama had> 
transpired. 

The Herald was duly examined the next morning 
at the breakfast-table at Krnest's, but without result. 
The^abduction had not been discovered the night 
before in time to secure the publication. That day 
Tom happened in at the place of business of Jones. 
He found him in immense tribulation at the loss, 
and declaring that " Spot was the best pointer he 
had. He would not have looked at a hundred dol- 
lars for him ! He had no doubt some } T oung scoun- 
drel had stolen him, and very likely some of the 
servant girls had helped in the robbery and shared 
the profit!" Tom did not attempt to combat the 
idea, but expressed his deep regret, and duly aided 
Jones in objurating the thief who could thus sever 
the bonds between a hundred-dollar pointer and his 
attached master. Having remained nearly as long 
as he felt that he could ensure his mouth against 
being detected in a broad grin, he went back to his 
own place of business. 

The examination of the He/ aid next morning, 
was more satis factory. The sister-in-law pounced 
upon the precious paragraph, as a bird might be 
supposed to do upon a very dainty vermiculous 
morsel. It read as follows : — 



IO-T— ON TUESDAY NIGHT LAST, FROM THE RESIDENCE 
j of his owner, No. — , street, a valuable Pointer Dog. [Here fol- 
lowed the description.] Ten Dollars Reward will be paid for his return to 

the office of Bradford & Jones, No. — , street, and no questions will be 

asked. 

"There it is — all right — just as I told you it would 
be !" said the originator of the frolic, when she had 



WORTH OF DOG. 47 

done reading the advertisement. " Now, yon see, 
it' you only send him back by somebody that Jones 
does not know, you would be ten dollars ahead." 

" Why, how eould you think of such a thing, sis- 
ter?" said Tom's wife. "Surely, Mr. Ernest, you 
would not carry the joke so far as that!" 

" That would be carrying the joke quite as far as 
we carried the dog— eh, wife ? ' laughed Tom. " Run- 
ning it into the ground — just as we ran him into it 
— in the coal- vault !" 

" But you don't mean to spoil a good joke by 
only carrying it out half-way,- do you ?" said the 
temptation. " Haven't you some person about the 
store — " 

" Yes, I have it!" said Tom. " There is Mike, our 
porter; I will send him. I don't think Jones knows 
him from Adam. You both know him, and when 
Mike comes for the dog, let him take him. One 
might as well be hung for an old sheep as a lamb, 
you know ; and how the deuce am I going to get the 
dog back to Jones unless I adopt some plan of the 
kind ?" 

" Just so !" said the tormentor ; and Tom's wife, 
though she may mentally have demurred, said no- 
thing more. Before Tom left the house that morn- 
ing for his business, the rest of the programme was 
arranged. 

Within two hours afterward, Mike, the Irish por- 
ter, had received his instructions. He was to go to 
the house — get the dog — take him to Bradford & 
Jones' office, with a copy of the Herald — draw the 
money and report again to Tom— making no expla- 
nations, and leaving the impression on the mind of 
Jones that he was some idle fellow who was prob- 
ably in the habit of picking up anything that might 
be left lying around loose. To this end he was pro- 



48 



vided with a very bad coat and a smashed hat, and 
so equipped he set out on his mission. 

All worked well. The pointer was duly released 
from his place of " temporary retirement," deco- 
rated with a rope, and led down to the store of 
Bradford & Jones, where he was received with a 
general chorus of gratification by all the employees 
(who probably did not care a snap for the dog, but 
took that mode of conciliating one of the partners), 
—and with enthusiastic rejoicings by the lately-be- 
reaved dog-proprietor himself. He examined his 
pet pointer at all points — as Mike reported on his 
return — felt his ribs to see whether he had fallen 
away in flesh during his absence — patted him as if 
he had been a favorite child receiving the paternal 
blessing — and acted generally as if he would have 
hugged his canine treasure outright but for the pre- 
sence of others. 

Mike came back, reported progress, and paid 
over the ten dollars to Ernest, who duly stowed 
it away for early use. A carriage was meanwhile 
called for Jones, who took his recovered animal 
inside with himself, to guard against any more ac- 
cidents, and went home at once to restore him to 
his kennel and receive the congratulations of his 
family. 

The next day Ernest called upon Jqnes, osten- 
-sjbly to make some inquiries as to the standing of a 
customer. His real object may be pretty easily 
divined. He had not to wait very long for what he 
had expected. Jones was so full of "clog" that he 
could not keep the subject long under. 

" By the way, Ernest," he said, breaking in upon 
a subject that was very different — " I have found 
my dog !" 

" What ! is it possible !" said Tom. " Where on 
earth did he come from ? Who brought him back?" 



49 

"I don't know," answered Jones, "and in fact I 
was so glad to see him that I never asked. He was 
an Irishman, I noticed, and shabbily dressed — that 
is all I know. Are you not glad? Don't you con- 
gratulate me ?" 

"Of course I do!" replied Tom. "Glad to hear 
that you have got him back, from the bottom of my 
heart. In fact — can you go out for a few minutes ? If 
you can, we will drink to the good health of ' Spot,' 
and the hope that he may never be strayed or stolen 



" Much obliged to you, Ernest, I am sure !" said 
Jones, flattered at Tom's evident interest. " I knew 
you would be glad to hear that I had got him back 
again. Wouldn't have taken a hundred dollars for 
that dog." 

" And only cost you ten to get him back," re- 
marked Tom — "besides that little advertisement." 

So they went out to bibulate over the joyful 
event. Mixed liquors were ordered, and Ernest 
threw down a ten dollar bill. They clinked glasses 
in honor of the return, and " smiled " amicably and 
audibly. When they had set down the glasses and 
the change was laid on the bar, Ernest pushed it 
across to Jones. 

"What do you mean?" asked the latter in sur- 
prise. " You put down the ten dollar bill, didn't 
you?" 

"Yes," answered Tom, slowly, "but the change 
is yours, for all that !" 

"I don't see the joke," said Jones, "though of 
course there must be one somewhere ! How do you 
come to owe me ten dollars ?" 

" Dog /" said Tom Ernest, fixing his laughing 
eyes full on Jones. 

Jones understood, without another word of expia- 
tion, and was at first inclined to commit an assault 



50 

and battery on Ernest, but thought better of it. 
But they did not separate until Tom had detailed 
the whole operation, with the share which his temp- 
tress had takin in inducing it ; nor until Tom had 
solemnly promised that he would not mention any 
names if he ever told the story. 

The last act in the drama had just occurred when 
I met Tom Ernest exploding with laughter as at 
first recorded ; but somehow or other, though I have 
not mentioned the names here, they have leaked 
out, and Jones has already been obliged to add vari- 
ous quarters to the original expenditure of "Ten 
Dollars' Worth of Dog." 




V. 

WHY TOM BURT DIDN'T SWEAR. 



Tom Burt always swore and swore awfully, except 
once. Why he failed to perform that ordinary ope- 
ration on the occasion referred to, it is the duty 
and the mission of this hasty sketch to explain. 

A considerable number of years ago in a section 
of country which is not of the least consequence 
for the purposes of this narrative, Tom followed the 
business of a u carter." He kept two or three teams, 
and carted every description of article that any one 
wished to have transported, from a keg of butter to 
a saw-log, just as the cartmen in this city transport 
any description of furniture or merchandize. A 
strong, stout, athletic fellow was Tom Burt — able to 
load with his single strength, what would puzzle 
half a dozen others, and therefore always the more 
in demand. But strong as were his arms and back, 
he had a still more athletic tongue. He could prob- 
ably out-swear any man within the circle of a hun- 
dred miles around him ; and when fairly aroused by 
some impertinence addressed to himself, or by a suc- 
cession of untoward circumstances occurring in 
business — it was always remarked by those in his 
neighborhood that the sky assumed a sickly green 
color, and that a strong perfume of sulphur and seso- 
fedita filled the atmosphere. It finally became a 
common remark with reference to any one who 



52 



swore loosely and indiscriminately, that lie " rip- 
ped and tore almost as bad as Tom Burt." 

A neighbor of Burt's was one season cutting off 
the wood on a row of hedge-land overlooking a long 
sweep of meadow, and at the foot of a range of 
steep, precipitous hills. Among the trees were 
found several massive old oaks, the butt-cuts of which 
made immense, unwieldy saw-logs, very valuable 
as timber but terribly difficult to handle. The diffi- 
culty was added to by the fact that there was no 
road over the meadow, and that the logs must be 
got to the saw-mill by laboriously dragging them 
up the hill-sides to the level of the road above. 

To get some of the heaviest of these up, Tom Burt, 
with heavy timber-wagons and strong horses, was 
employed. "With half a dozen extra* men to assist 
in loading, and six horses harnessed to one of his 
strongest wagons, Burt commenced the task. It 
was not by any means a pleasant one, and strained 
backs, smashed fingers, and swearing were the order 
of the day as some of the smaller logs were loaded 
and dragged up the hill. Burt was peculiarly fresh 
and lively in his cursing, and when anything occur- 
red to vex him for a moment, he let off such a vol- 
ley that day, that even the rough fellows he had 
employed, shuddered as if they believed the angry 
sky was coming down on their heads. 

Finally the giant of the group was tackled. With 
almost superhuman labor it was loaded on the 
wagon, then chocked and chained so as to be safe 
for its upward ride. The big horses groaned and 
the stout wagon creaked, as they labored zig-zag up 
the precipitous hill, and occasionally it was neces- 
sary to apply pries and the shoulders of the men to 
the wheels, to prevent stopping and going backward 
at some sharper acclivity. Up and up, until they 
were very nearly at the top, when at a quick short 



63 

jerk the bolt gave way that secured the tongue of 
the wagon to the hounds, the wagon went suddenly 
backwards with its fearful load, took a shear in the 
road, went over and was crushed to pieces; and the 
big log, released from its bonds, went over, and over 
and over again, crashing through the underbrush 
and ploughing through the turf, thundering along 
to the very bottom of the hill where it leaped the 
hedge to the edge of the meadow and landed in a 
ditch, from which there were scarcely men and 
teams enough in the country to extricate it. 

Every eye of the. men employed turned upon Tom 
Burt, and eveiy ear prepared for such a volley of 
profanity as had not before been heard since the 
English army did such tall swearing in Flanders. 
Burt stood there, calm and serene, his arms folded, 
his eye scanning the whole catastrophe, but not a 
word proceeding from his lips. Dead silence with 
himself and his assistants, lasting for several mo- 
ments. There seemed to be a general feeling that 
whatever was to be done, Burt must do, and yet 
Burt did nothing. 

At length Joe Brown, Burt's second in command 
and only his second in profanity, found it impossible 
any longer to restrain his astonishment. 

" Tom Burt !" he said, " why the d— 1 don't you 
swear ?" 

" Swear !" said Burt, his concentrated rage hiss- 
ing through his teeth, but no oath following. " Swear! 
Well, boys, I never wanted to swear so bad in my 
life, but I can't ! I thought I could rip a little ; and 
I have more than once cussed the bark oif a big 
hickory, and made a hen-hawk drop right out of the 
air as if he had been shot, when I lired one of 
them big oaths at him? But that 'are log, smash- 
ing up that 'are wagon, rolliu' down the hill and 
goin' kerslump into a bog that it can never be got 



54: 



out of till the general resurrection — that takes me ! 
I give up ! Sweariiv ain't no use. It' I was to cuss 
till sundown I couldn't do justice to it, so don't ask 
me !" 

It is needless to say that Joe Brown and all the 
rest held Tom excusable for that occasion, and for 
that occasion only. 1 am not aware that Tom ever 
was known to fail afterwards, as he certainly had 
never failed before. 



VI, 

j BILLY RADFORD'S LOST PUP. 

There stands out clearly and prominently before 
my mind's eye, at this moment, a canine of tender 
years belonging to one Billy Radford — the loss of 
that valuable animal — the exertions made by Mr. 
Radford, aforesaid, to secure the return of his miss- 
ing pet — the number of times that pet (or some 
other) was brought back to him — with other entertain- 
ing particulars belonging to the whole transaction, 

Radford was a dapper clerk in one of those non- 
descript conglomerations of incongruous merchandize 
y'clept a country store — one of those places in 
which silks and soap, calicoes and codfish, mittens 
and medicines, are dispensed to a variety of custom- 
ers quite as great as the variety of the goods on sale. 
One of those places in which a country fine lady, 
come to do her " shopping" (she can do it, by the 
way, quite as efficiently, heartlessly and injuriously, 
as if she had been educated on Chesnut street, or 
spent half her life and all her husband's money, 
practising on Broadway) — where the country fine 
lady, I say, looking for silks, flannels or ribbons, is 
jostled by the dirty boy who. has been sent in a 
hurry to replace a defunct corn-hoe, — or by a fe- 
male Ethiopian of moderate pretensions, no bonnet 
and a very dirty gown, anxious after a bar of soap 
or two pounds of sugar. 



56 



Radford, as I have said, filed the position of 
clerk or counter-jumper in such an establishment, 
so near to the place where I was at that time lo- 
cated, in a country village within sight of the smoke 
of the great city, that I had a reasonably close ac- 
quaintance with the details of his daily life, and 
spent very much of my time assisting him in his ar- 
duous labors of sitting on the counter in the absence 
of customers, smoking very bad cigars when the 
proprietor happened to be temporarily missing, and 
playing chequers in the intervals of more profitable 
employment. 

Some malevolent fate ordered it, one summer, 
that Billy should become the proprietor of a dog. 
HSTot a very large dog, certainly, nor yet a very costly 
dog; but large enough for all practical purposes, and 
which eventually cost him enough to have been 
reckoned a dear acquisition. Holt, a small far- 
mer who paid much more attention to the dog and 
gun than to the acres which should have made him 
independent, and who lived half a mile across the 
valley, was somewhat noted as a breeder of dogs. 
Among his variety he had succeeded in producing 
a cross between the common yellow hound and the 
English spotted coach dog, that was really very 
handsome and of no possible use in the world. The 
desire to procure sli]^ of this remarkable breed ran 
high one summer; and by using very fine words 
with Holt, and depositing in his itching palm per- 
haps five dollars of cuft*ent coin, Radford, who no 
more wanted a dog than the same dog would have 
wanted a supplementary head on the other end, — 
succeeded in procuring one of them — a pup of a 
few months old, tall, slight of limb, glossy of coat, 
and daintily spotted — a very nice thing to look at, 
if one could only have known what to do with it. 
and if it had been no trouble. 



57 

Billy at the time took his meals at the house of 
his employer, at a little distance, and slept in a part 
of the store-building; so that he really made his 
home at his place of business. Of course his canine 
acquisition must be provided quarters at this place ; 
and the dapper clerk put on overalls, soiled his 
hands and blistered his fingers, in the construction 
of a kennel on the lot adjoining the building, where 
his pet, though confined within bounds by the mod- 
erate length of his chain, would enjoy all the other 
comforts of dog-hood. Thither Billy transported 
him tit-bits from his own dinner, and choice mor- 
sels from the uncooked meats that lay in the barrels 
of the grocery department. There, too, he watered 
him as if lie had been a favorite flower. For some 
days after the acquisition, it is safe to say that Billy 
visited the kennel twenty times a day, for a romp 
with his four-footed friend, and spent half the re- 
maining time somewhat to the disadvantage of bu- 
siness, in peering lovingly out of a favorable win- 
dow that overlooked the location of his treasure. 

One morning, 4 the night before which had been an 
exquisite moonlight, there was not precisely mount- 
ing in hot haste, on the part of Billy Radford, but 
flying around haif dressed and in most remarkable 
agitation. Taking a preliminary glance out of the 
window of the chamber as he descended, lo and be- 
hold a sad spectacle met his gaze ! The end of a 
broken chain was visible, extending out for a couple 
of feet from the door of the kennel. Billy realized 
all his misfortune at once. His " purp" was gone — 
his beautiful "purp" from which a " dorg'' of mag- 
nificent dimensions had been expected to grow. 
Billy took about three steps down stairs, two more 
brought him out to the kennel — all his worst fears 
were but too truly accomplished. The pup was 
among those sad things upon which the memory 
3 



58 



might rest, but the sight of which was evermore 
denied to the living eyes. Talk about " banquet 
halls deserted," and the melancholy condition of the 
duck-ponds and sidewalks at "Sweet Auburn" — 
all these could have been nothing to the desolate 
appearance of the deserted kennel. Billy seemed 
to see the pup yet at the end of the chain, as his 
eyes tilled with tears ; and he more than halt 
thought that he could hear his delicious howl, with 
which for a few nights he had kept all the neigh- 
bors and Billy himself awake, — echoing through the 
halls of memory. lie examined the chain ; it had 
not been cut off, but broken ; the pup had not then, 
probably, been stolen, but must have broken his 
chain during the night, and escaped from the house 
that had been so lovingly prepared for him ; from 
the hand that had so fed — and watered — him. 

Billy went back to the store a young man of 
altered feelings — not to say of a crushed spirit His 
hair had not suddenly whitened, neither had there 
grown a sudden stoop in his back, indicating pre- 
mature a^e. But his elasticity of spirit was gone. 
He saw the vanity and evanescence of human pos- 
sessions. When a small boy came after a quart of 
molasses, he asked him instead how much '*dog;" 
and when he was required to make out a bill for 
some dry goods purchased by a lady for her family, 

he began it — " Mrs. , to \V\ Radford, Dr., to 

one spotted pup." Billy had, in fact, "pup on the 
brain." 

This sad state of affairs could not last. Action was 
necessary, or the mental consequences mighi be se- 
rious. Of course he asked every one who came in 
whether they had seen his dog, and was always 
answered in the negative. Then his desolate spirit 
found relief in advertising, as so many other people 
have erewhile found it in other walks of literature. 



59 



No newspaper was within easy reach, nor was there 
a printing-office in tiie village. But the resource of 
the pen and of the marking-brush with which he 
marked bundles, was yet open to him. He went 
diligently to work, and the result that followed was 
comprised in six sheets of white writing paper, read- 
ing as follows, and the heading of each done with 
the marking-brush, while the balance was filled up 
with the pen in coarse-hand: 

"DOG LOST. 



STRAYED OR STOLEN 



t ! 



"The subscriber has lost a spottel pup, four 
months old, and big for his age. Said pup is very 
handsome, and is called " Jack." He looks a lit- 
tle like a hound, but is spotted all over with nice 
spots. Said pup was taken away or broke his chain 

on Thursday night, back of Mr. 's store, at 

. If any body will bring back the said pup in 

good order, to the said store, without cutting off his 
ears or tail, or spoiling his spots, he will receive a 
liberal reward and the thanks of the owner. 

"WILLIAM RADFORD. 

" P. S. — Nobody needn't be afraid of the said 
pup, for he doesn't bite at all. He can be took up, 
harmless as a child. W. R." 

These notices were at once duly posted, by order 
of the proper authorities. One was stuck up by 
Billy himself on one of the piazza posts of the store, 
and another on a board fence in the immediate 
neighborhood. A third was sent by a customer 
w.;<! happened to stop with his wagon, to be posted 
at a tavern two miles off, 'i lie remainder were en- 
trusted to a small boy belonging to one of the neigh- 



60 



boring families, with a hammer and some lath-nails, 
and his pockets filled with crackers and raisins as a 
compensation for performing the duty — to be- nailed 
on a certain tree at a neighboring cross-roads, and 
disposed in two other public situations. Then, not 
having, perhaps, commanded success, but having 
taken those steps which seemed to deserve it — it 
may be supposed Radford was easier in his mind, 
and he transacted the business of the day with less 
of blunders — such as weighing out Scotch snuff 
when called on for cassimere, or supplying a lady 
with a chopping-axe instead of an ounce of nut- 
megs — than might have been the case had lie omit- 
ted the hand-bills. We may fancy, too, that he re- 
tired to rest with more hope of sleep than might 
have been indulged in the first hours of his bereave- 
ment. 

But that sleep was broken. Among the materials 
for supplying the general wants ot the neighbor- 
hood, afforded by the store, drugs and medicines 
were to be reckoned — from a patent pill that would 
cure all the ills that flesh is heir to, by merely 
smelling of the box — down through all the varieties 
of ordinary aperients and opiates, to an ointment 
which would cause the hair to grow on the back of 
a pine board. In order to prevent the possibility 
of some respected citizen dying quietly at midnight 
without being able to procure the necessary medi- 
cine to help him off — a night-bell had been arranged 
at the door of the store, communicating with Rad- 
ford's chamber, so that a pull upon the handle at 
the door would tingle a bell within a foot of the 
ear of the sleeping clerk. 

At about midnight came a pull. Tingle — lingle ! 
went the bell. Radford jumped out of bed as if he 
had been shot out by a catapult. Here was his 
dog, now ! Somebody had read the notice — picked 



billy radford's lost pup. 61 

up the animal, and could not wait until morning to 
return him and claim the "liberal reward." At 
once he flung np the window — through which he 
could be heard, though not seen, the roof of the 
piazza hiding the person below. 

" Have you got him?" he called out. 

" Yes, but how the devil did you know?" was the 
response, in a gruff tone. "Come, hurry down !" 

" Where was he ?" responded Billy, still through 
the window. 

" Down by the creek," was the reply. " Some- 
body had hit him on the head, and he was as stiff 
as a poker when we found him." 

" Good heavens !" cried Radford. " Poor Jack ! 
is he dead, then ?" elevating his voice so that his 
interlocutor could hear the question. 

"Dead, no ! lie's coming to, gradually, but he 
must have "some morphine at once. They had to 
cut his boots off his feet, they were swelled so. 
But why in thunder don't yon hurry down ?" 

"Cut off his feet! — good Lord!" cried poor 
Radford, who had not caught all the words of the 
other. " Cut off his feet? why what will he be 
good for ? Yes, yes, I'm coming down as soon as I 
get dressed. Boor Jack ! oh, my pretty pup !" 

Two or three minutes elapsed, and then Rad- 
ford opened the front door. There stood Joe Man- 
son, a workman from the lime-kilns. But he seem- 
ed to have no dog with him. 

"Where is he? why don't you bring him in V 9 
asked Radfurd, impetuously, as he looked in vain 
for the dog. 

" Come, Bill Radford, you'd better go to bed 
again and sleep off that drunk !" said Hanson. 
" Where should he be, but in his bed, and how 
could /bring him here ?" 



"In bed? — put Him in bed and cut off his legs?" 
added Radford — " why what do you mean ?" 

" Can't stand talking here all night," said Han- 
son. " Come, get the morphine if you're going to. 
Didn't say that they had cut off his legs, only the 
hoots off his legs." 

"Boots? why where the deuce did he get loots 
from?" queried Radford, relieved, however, by the 
supposed intelligence that his pet had not lost his 
legs. " Had some of the boys been playing tricks 
on him and then knocked him on the head ?" 

" Don't know !" answered Hanson. " All we 
know is, that he was at Loper's tavern along in the 
evening, and had been drinking a little. When 
they found him, his watch was gone " 

"Joe Hanson, what are you talking about?" 
broke out poor Billy. " A dog that has been drink- 
ing and lost his watch !" 

*' No," said Hanson, " it's you that has been 
drinking. I was talking about Sam Hays, that we 
picked up down the creek to-night, near dead. 
What the d — 1 was you talking about V 

"Hem," said Radford — "don't know exactly. 
Perhaps I must have been a little asleep yet. Said 
you wanted morphine, eh ? Haven't seen anything 
of a nice spotted hound pup, around anywhere, have 

you?" 

" No, cuss your pup !" roughly answered Hanson. 
" Bill Radford, }-ou have kept me halt' an hour, and 
Hays may die before I get back, just for want of 
the medicine! Come, stir yourself!" 

Poor Billy lit his lamp, weighed out the medi- 
cine, which may have been morphine, or cawi-phene 
for anything that I know to the contrary, or for 
anything that he probably knew at the time, — and 
Hanson departed. 

" Thought he was talking about my pup !" mused 



63 

Radford as he once more crept back to bed. 
" Well, I'm glad it wasn't him, if he had been used 
in any such way as that P 5 and he went once more 
to his broken slumbers, in which he dreamed that 
Jack made his appearance with a bloody head, two 
of his legs cut off and the other two cased in water- 
man's boots, and with a watch of the dimensions of 
a brass kettle tied to his tail. No farther interrup- 
tion that night, and he arose in the morning to 
mourn his loss by daylight. 

But the pup soon arrived, in another shape. Rad- 
ford had some lady customers during the morning 
—among others two at one time, of whom one was 
the daughter of a neighboring farmer, towards 
whom Billy had a peculiar warming of the heart 
which might afterwards have grown to a matrimo- 
nial flame. She was a saucy little minx, as well as 
a pretty one ; and when she came to buy calicoes, 
laces or ribbons, and to trade away a pot of butter 
or a few dozens of eggs, the transaction always oc- 
cupied a considerable time, if the proprietor hap- 
pened to be absent, — through the manoeuvring of 
Billy and the coquettish willingness of Lucy to trade 
off one labial kiss for a dozen candy ones, or fill her 
pockets with oranges and almonds at a correspond- 
ing consideration. 

On the morning in question Lucy and a neighbor 
girl were in the store, and Radford was doing the 
amiable, after having — as is almost unnecessary to 
say — communicated the loss of his pup and expa- 
tiated on the beauty thereof, — when a small speci- 
men of male darkeyhood, about ten years old and 
three feet high, entered the front door, dragging 
along an animal of the dog specie?. The little nig- 
ger was blacker than the dark cellar into which the 
sable necromancer went at night to look for his 
black cat ; and his eyes and his teeth, which occu- 



64: BILLY RADFOKd's LOST PUP. 

pied more than half his face, were of such snowy 
whiteness that they seemed to glitter, starlike, in 
the black mass of their surroundings. Sartorially, 
he was a mass of patched rags, with an unfortunate 
rent in the patches of his nether habiliments, 
through which pieces of a shirt that had once been 
white presented themselves. But if the little darkey 
was an object, what was the animal accompanying 
him ? Imagine a dog with the body of a bull-dog ; 
the six-inches-long legs of a whiffet: the hair of a 
wiry cur, standing up on end as if he had been 
rough-dried and nobody had had time to iron him; 
two inches of stumpy tail that stood bolt upright 
like a flag staff; a head large enough fo-r a moderate- 
sized lion, with bobbed ears, flabby hanging jaws, 
a red mouth and bleared red eyes; then impart a 
color suggestive of having taken his nightly slum- 
ber in an ash heap — and a fair idea may be con- 
ceived of the appearance presented by the animal 
brought to Radford for inspection. Iso married 
lady could have looked upon it without serious peril 
to herself and family. It had the effect of freezing 
Radford temporarily to stone, and of sending Lucy 
doubled up across the counter in a paroxysm of 
laughter which threatened her life. 

" He ! he ! got your pup, Masser Radford !" said 
the juvenile incarnation of blackness. 

" That my dog I" cried Radford, breaking mo- 
mentarily from the spell which bound him. 

" Yes, that is your dog!" laughed Lucy, breaking 
into another lit of irrepressible merriment. u You 
said he was a beauty, and he is! only look at him!" 

"That's not my dog! the d— 1!" roared Radford, 
coloring and paling by turns. 

' k Oh yes, sartin — must be your dog, Masser Rad- 
ford," saicHhe little wretch. " Jim Burns told me 



billy radford's lost pup. 65 

it was, and said he'd seen some kind of writin' about 
it. Must be your dog, Masser Radford, sartin !" 

" I tell you it is not" said Billy, savagely. " You'd 
better get out of the store with that ugly cuss, or 
I'll break your black head!" 

'• Pshaw ! don't !" said Lucy, with a great affecta- 
tion of sobriety. "Now, Bill v, own up like a man ! 
If the dog isn't so good-looking as you pretended, 
don't scold the little darkey and back out from what 
/on promised to pay." 

"Thunder and lightning!" cried Radford, now 
fairly beside himself with vexation, u I tell you that it 
isn't my pup ! Do you think that I'd have such. a 
looking thing as that about me ?" 

" Well, he isn't pretty !" laughed Lucy, " but I 
guess he must be yours, Billy. Come, take him like 
a man, off the poor little fellow's hands, and give him 
what you owe him." 

" Yes, give me what you owe me, Masser Rad- 
ford ?" whined the little nigger, putting his knuckles 
in his eyes, and either crying or affecting to cry, 
while Radford on one side and the blear-eyed dog on 
the other, looked particularly dangerous and wollish. 

" Get out, I tell you ! off with you before I break 
your head !" and Radford made a demonstration to 
spring at negro and dog with a wooden cloth-roller, 
whereupon the small imp of darkness took to his 
heels, now bellowing in earnest, and dropping the 
string by which he had led the dog. The latter im- 
mediately took refuge behind a row of barrels, from 
between which his head looked out, the teeth grin- 
ning savagely and his position defended by a series 
of barks and growls which nearly drove the poor 
clerk distracted. 

Away went lha cloth-roller at the dog, followed by 
an application of hoe-haudle, which happened to be 
the next thing that fell into the hands of poor Lad - 



66 



ered Billy. The dog finally took flight out of the 
store and up the road, while the little negro stood 
bellowing outside, his fists stuck into his eyes, and 
likely to attract more attention from passers-by than 
might be agreeable. The result of which was, that 
at Lucy's suggestion the poor little black morsel was 
called in, a bright quarter put in his hand, and his 
pockets stuffed full of peanuts — at which he went 
away not only satisfied, but rejoicing, and Billy Rad- 
ford was rid of this ban-dog incubus. 

But visitation number three was not long in com- 
ing, though fortunately it did not arrive until Lucy 
had gone away, or the second attack of risibility 
might really have cost her life. Two hours after 
dinner, and when Badford was alone in the store, 
entered a stalwart- Hibernian, whose thick and mud- 
dy boots proclaimed him to be by profession a dig- 
ger of ditches. He, too, had a dog, dragged in by a 
small rope which had probably been his wife's 
clothes-line. And in the quantity of dog, there was 
nearly as much difference between the new-comer 
and the one that had preceded it, as .there was be- 
tween the little nigger and the big Irishman. 

The dog was evidently a mixture of the bull-dog 
of the fiercest description, and the mastiff. He was 
large-boned and heavy legged, with the protruding 
jaw of the prize-fighter and the retreating forehead 
of the idiot. He was piebald white, brindle and 
black in color, and over one of the eyes of his par- 
tially white face was a daub of black that exactly 
suggested the damaged optic of his prototype the 
pugilist. He was lame of one foot, and had an omin- 
ous bloody strip down one side, as if from a recent 
fight, but evidently had not all the fight taken out 
i-f hiui, for his heavy tail wagged treacherously, his 
while teeth showed through the red muzzle, and he 
kept up a constant low growl that suggested throt- 



BILLY RADFORD'g LOST PUP. 67 

tling somebody or something. His keeper was ill- 
favored and red-whiskered, and Lad a sapling cudgel 
in his hand that might have been 'employed in 
pounding the ugly brute into submission, and might 
be intended to perform the same operation on the 
person visited. 

" Is it here f where you want tlie dog ?" asked the 
pleasant-looking visitor. 

" I lest a dog, night before last," answered Rad- 
ford, involuntarily getting upon the counter to be 
out of the way of the bull-dog. " A spotted hound 
pup. Have you seen anything of it?" 

" Is it that yer asking ?" demanded the Hibernian, 
with a scowl, and indicating the dog with his stick. 
" Isn't he here, safe as iver, and a beauty he is, more 
be token !" 

"That dog? that isn't mine!" said Kadford. 
" What in thunder do I want of t/iatf" 

" Sorra wan of me knows what yer wan tin' of it 1" 
replied the visitor. "All I know is that ye sthuck 
up a bit uv writing on the tree beyant, sayin' that 
ye'd been losing a dog, and one o' the min who 
could rade a bit, read it to me, and I've brought the 
dog and am wantin' me money !" 

" I tell you that is not my dog !" said Radford, 
now not only vexed but discouraged. 

" An' I till you that it is your dog!" bellowed the 
Hibernian. " Divil a bit can you come yer thricks 
over Jemmy Byrne ! Didn't ye put it in the wri- 
tin' that ye'd lost a dog, and here I have brought ye 
wan [one] ! Didn't yez say that yer dog was spot- 
ted, and look at that, now ! Jest mind what a fine 
timper he has !" At this moment the brute gave a 
growl that showed how willingly he would have 
made a meal of the clerk on the counter. 

" Just take him out of here, will you ?" said Had- 



63 



ford. "I tell you he isn't mine, and I don't want 
anything to do with him." 

" But be the Hill of Howth, I'm not going to take 
him out of here, and divil a step will I stir till I get 
me money!" persisted the visitor, who took occasion 
at that moment to stir up the animal with his stick 
and elicit another growl. u Yez don't be desavincr 
poor men in that manner, takin' the likes of me away 
from me wurruk, to bring yer dirty dogs to yez, an d 
thin refusin' to pay up like min — more shame to 
yez!" 

"I won't pay a cent, and I want that dog taken 
out of here, at once !" said Radford, who neverthe- 
less felt a little pale about the gills and wished that 
some big customer would happen in. 

"Thin be the sowl of Molly Kelly I'll let the 
baste take the worth of the money out of yez !" 
yelled the Hibernian, and he made a motion to 
loosen the rope from his neck. 

" Stop," said poor Billy, seeing no help approach- 
ing. " The dog isn't mine, and I don't want him, 
but I have no objection to paying you a little some- 
thing for your trouble." 

" Well, that's raysonable, anyway !" said the vis- 
itor, desisting from his intention of untying the dog. 
"How much wud ye give ?" 

" I can't afford much," answered Radford, " but 
say a dollar or two — " 

"Five wudn't be too much for all me throuble," 
said the sturdy ditch-man, " and I couldn't think of 
looking at a dirty wan / but if ye'd make it three — " 

" I'll just give yon two, if you'll take that dog 
away, or you may go to the d — 1, and I'll try cheese- 
knife against dog!" was the ultimatum of Radford. 

" Well, yez may hand it over here," replied the 
dog-conducter, " only ye^ need niver expict me to 



bring yez another do 






69 



" And I hope to the Lord }^ou never will!" was 
the reply of lladford, as lie sprung down from the 
counter on the back side, took out a two dollar bill 
from the drawer and threw it over. The Hibernian 
picked it up, examined it as if he knew a bank-bill 
from a shinplaster, growled over it a little, then 
thrust it into his pocket, gave the dog another 
punch that brought a growl and a half spring out 
of him, tautened the leading-string on the animal, 
and departed — Billy breathing very much freer 
when he disappeared up the road. 

He had no more applications that day, nor did 
he hear anything of his missing pup. It is only 
fair to the young man to say that he did not make 
many more enquiries about it, the dog-fever having 
now calmed considerably. 

But that night — the story of the night-bell and 
the mistake of the hurt man and the dog having no 
doubt got abroad, — there was a general irruption of 
disturbance in that direction. Half a dozen of the 
roughest practical jokers in the section, having got 
in leading-strings half a dozen of the ugliest curs in 
the country, visited the night-bell and rung him up. 
When he came down, he certainly had his choice 
among a collection of canine quadrupeds that would 
have frightened the witches in Macbeth into great- 
er ugliness. From this visitation, which was a joc- 
ular one, Radford was relieved after bringing out a 
spread of crackers, cheese, raisins, cakes and wine, 
from the grocery department, which really did not 
cost him much, but mortified him excessively and 
increased his chances of some day having an un- 
pleasant settlement with the proprietor. 

The next day, after seeing that the notices were 
down, under the plea of ill-health he procured leave 
of absence for a week ; and if any more dogs were 
brought for his acceptance he did not see them. 



70 billy radford's lost pup. 

When he returned, at the end of that time, the in- 
cident had pretty much blown over, and — lie did 
not want any dog. The kennel made splendid 
kindling-wood. I am not aware that the mystery 
of the disappearance of the pup was ever cleared 
away — whether some dog-fancier had stolen him, 
or whether the proprietor, tired of his noise and 
botheration, had procured or connived at his disap- 
pearance. I imagine that this part of the affair will 
ever rest in the same darkness that shrouds the 
names of the builders of the Pyramids, the Author 
of Junius, and the Man who kissed Sally Farrell. 




VII. 

CAPTAIN CRAB BE AND HIS SPECULATION 
IN HARNESS. 

"Quiz" was the only one word in the language 
capable of expressing the character of Captain Tom 
Crabbe in the day wlien I know him best. He 
spent three-quarters of his life, it appeared to me, 
in the effort to discover some means by which his 
neighbors could be harmlessly overreached and 
made pleasantly uncomfortable ; and his well-to-do 
situation in the world and the abundance of leisure 
he enjoyed, placed him in precisely the position to 
make his search successful. He carried on some 
maritime business, but mostly through other hands, 
and so managed that his boats and boatmen made 
money for him, while he remained ashore, took his 
apparent ease, and merely acted as that most im- 
portant of all things in any line of business — a man- 
ager. 

When the Captain's showy velvet vest and enor- 
mous guard chain, which were the first things to be 
observed about him in those days, hove in sight, — 
those who knew him began to be careful about 
their conversation, and " mind their eyes " gener- 
ally, .well aware that if they did not they would fall 
victims to some wholesale joke at all the stores, 
shops and taverns in the village, before the hours 
were many. Let me do him the justice to say that 



Ms jokes were all sunshine and no lightning — that 
they tickled and sometimes scorched, but never 
scathed and blighted— and that the village droll 
well earned the right to all the pranks he played, 
by a hand as " open as the day to melting charity," 
and a heart that never closed against the appeal of 
suffering. Was a poor fellow missing from his home 
one afternoon, and his body found on the shore next 
morning, a helpless wife and children left behind 
him; — or did another fall across the great cireular- 
sa.v of the timber yard and lose a hand or two or 
three fingers, disabling him and throwing his family 
into want, — did any of these things occur, Captain 
Tom was to be found going about town, merry and 
quizzical as usual, but with a relief list which he 
himself had nobly headed, and laughing the quar- 
ters and halves out of people's pockets with more 
facility than others could have wept and begged 
them out of the same entrenchment. 

No one, resident at that time within forty miles 
of the marine village, will forget the tricks Captain 
Tom habitually played upon a pompous numscull 
of a lawyer residing near him and doing his miser- 
able little to involve the community in litigation. 
Scarcely a week passed but Captain Tom would set 
him on the scent of a scandal, which, followed up, 
would result in a sad disappointment if not a tweak- 
ed nose, — or befog him with an array of bogus 
papers and documents over which he would pore 
and puzzle for days without discovering either the 
meaning of the papers or the " sell " which had been 
practised upon him. Once he sent the same enthu- 
siastic individual the whole length of the State, to 
try his chances for United States Senator before 
the joint-meeting of the legislature, on the pretend- 
ed wish of the Governor that he should do so ; and 
at another time he manufactured a case of piracy 



CAPT. 

in the robbery of an oyster sloop lying in the 
neighborhood, of a pair of old boots, a hat and 
some bed-clothes, especially to see -with what vim 
and energy the legal ninny would strive for the con- 
viction of the imaginary offender. 

Then a spread-eagle sort of young fellow, who 
was very loud and troublesome, and who had at- 
tained the dignity of Marshal of a Fourth of July 
parade by being in everybody's way so that he was 
stuck on a horse to get clear of him, — was invited 
to accept a sword which his grateful townsmen had 
voted to his " dignity and efficiency on the occa- 
sion." The sword was kept concealed from the re- 
cipient and all his friends, and at the appointed time 
the village Academy was thronged to witness the 
presentation. The sword, which was presented by 
the Captain, in a speech the pregnant matter of 
which made up for its want of length, — the sword, 
on being unrolled from its voluminous wrappings 
on the great occasion in question, after the present- 
ation speech had been made and the stupid recipient 
had run himself into the proper scrape by acknow- 
ledging it, — proved to be one beaten out of an old 
iron-hoop by Briggs, the blacksmith, who was an 
able aid-de-camp to Crabbe — the handle formed of 
an immense sugar-beet ! 

Fires — burglaries — immense transactions in land, 
and other like speculations — horse races between 
horses that could no more run than so many cows — 
boat races between boats that could no more sail 
than a Susquehanna lumber raft — mass-meetings 
with naming hand-bills, for purposes of which no 
one ever before heard, — these made up a consider- 
able part of the Captain's stock in trade, in the good 
old days. Occasionally, but very rarely, he took a 
slight property advantage when the chance offered, 
but never to an amount exceeding what even the 

4 



74 

victim would regard as a " good joke" and a " fair 
sell." Only once do I remember his meeting his 
match in that direction ; and that instance will bear 
relating more particularly* 

Captain Crabbe had, at the period referred to, a 
very nice sett of single harness, just finished off by 
Rube Ferret, the saddler, to the tune of fifty dol- 
lars, and had not yet taken them home. When he 
did take possession of them, in a few days, they 
were to be devoted to ornamenting and setting off 
the glossy sides of his little bay pony, and create 
some sensation as he dashed through the town in a 
spruce baggy just turned out by the village wheel- 
wright. Passing by Haskell's baker-shop, one 
afternoon, when he knew that the harness must be 
finished, a bright idea struck Captain Tom, with 
which his eyes fell privately into their merriest 
twinkle. Of all the world, Rube himself, an incarn- 
ate mischief, was the person on whom a " sell" would 
tell the best in the village, and forthwith the ma- 
chinery was put in operation. He saw Ferret and 
Haskell in conversation at the door, and strolled 
negligently over. 

A day or two before, Captain Crabbe had been 
in the city on business, and tempted by the display 
in a jeweller's window on Greenwich street, he had 
invested forty dollars in a plain chatelaine chain 
probably worth the full amount he had paid for it. 
This, on the afternoon in question, was conspicuously 
displayed by being hooked in the bottom button- 
hole of his showy vest, and had been making quite 
a sensation all day among those he met. 

After a word or two 01 conversation with Ferret 
and Haskell, Captain Tom appeared suddenly to 
remember that he had an appointment, and pulled 
out his lever, taking care that the heavy chain should 
remain dangling in his hand long enough to attract 



CAPT. CRABBE's SPECULATION IN HARNESS. 75 

the attention of Rube. The eye of the latter caught 
the chain, and the Captain saw the twinkle. He 
gave his watch a loud snap, and gathered up his 
chain as if about to put it back into his pocket. 

"Nice chain ! remarked Rube, falling into the 
very train of thought the Captain could have 
wished. 

" Ya-a-as," said the Captain, drawing the word 
out as if he meant to be understood that he had no 
particular thought on the subject, and that it was a 
matter of very little consequence. 

" Got it lately ?" asked Rube, who seemed really 
taken by the chain. 

" Yes," answered the Captain, " got it only a day 
or two ago, in the city." 

"Nice chain — very nice chain," again repeated 
Ferret. " Wouldn't mind if I had one just like it, 
myself. Gold, I suppose?" 

" Humph !" said the Captain, " pure gold, of 
course, or I wouldn't wear it! I bought it for my- 
self, but — well, you can have it if you want it." 

" Oh, no," answered Ferret-—" I should like to 
have it well enough, but I can't afford it." 

"You could afford it in trade, couldn't you?" 
asked the Captain. 

" Well, I don't know," said Ferret, slowly. 
" Trade ? well, perhaps I could." 

" Humph,, well I" spoke the Captain, quickly, as 
if he had just thought about it. " I can get an- 
other when I go up again. Tell you what I'll do. 
I'll give you this chain, now, for the best sett of 
harness in your shop." 

Ferret seemed to hesitate a moment, but the Cap- 
tain hurried him up with : 

" Come, speak quick if you want it ! I'm going 
to the city again pretty soon, and I must go, now." 

"Well/I'll take it 1" answered Ferret. Where- 



76 CAPT. 

upon Captain Tom, unhooking the chain from his 
watch, handed it over, suppressing the inward 
chuckle which shook him to the toes of his boots, 
and taking the precaution to put Haskell in the posi- 
tion of witness by saying : 

"You understand, Haskell? I give Rube my 
chain, and he is to give me, for it, the best sett of 
single harness in his shop !" 

" I understand," said Haskell, and " It's all 
right !" said Rube, putting the chain in his pocket. 

Rube Ferret suddenly saw somebody beckoning 
him, at that moment, from the door of his own shop, 
and walked away, leaving Captain Tom still with 
Haskell. 

" Do you know where I've got him?" asked 
Captain Tom, who, now that the trade was duly 
accomplished, was ready to begin " roasting" Fer- 
ret all over town. 

14 No," said Haskell. 

" Well, I'll tell you, then !" laughed the Captain. 
" I paid forty dollars for that chain, a day or two 
ago, and it is about worth the money. Ferret has 
been making me a sett of fifty dollar single harness, 
and they are done, but I haven't taken 'em home ! 
Don't you see ? Ferret did not think about my 
harness, and / have got my fifty dollar harness for 
forty dollars /" 

"Ha! ha! ha! capital !" laughed Haskell," Yes, 
you have got him nicely !" and the Captain strolled 
off to i ell the story at the oyster-saloon on the 
corner. While he was telling it, some one called 
his attention. 

"Why what a turn-out you are making, Captain 
Crab be ! Your son Joe has just gone by, with the 
pony to a new buggy, and all rigged up in a new 
harness that shines like a button !" 

" New harness ! — the devil he is !" roared the 



CAPT. CRABBE's SPECULATION IN HARNESS. 77 

Captain, running to the door, something striking 
him violently in the perceptive organs about that 
moment. " Joe has got the new harness ! — oh, Lord, 
I'll be the death of him !" and away he went down 
the street after the offending Joe. 

Ferret happened along again by Haskell's shop 
a few moments afterwards, his new chain dangling 
beautifully. 

" Eh, .Haskell," said Rube, "do you' know the 
joke?" 

" No !'" answered Haskell — " except that the Cap- 
tain seems to have got a fifty-dollar harness out of 
you for a forty-dollar chain !" 

" Has he ?" laughed Rube. " I know what he 
paid for the chain — Joe told me. Got me, has he ? 
Do you remember the bargain ? He was to have 
the best single harness in my shop for the chain. 
I suppose he thought his fifty-dollar harness was in 
my shop, but it wasn't : Joe came and took it away 
this morning ! The best single harness in my shop 
is just worth twenty-five dollars /" 

" Oh, ho ! ho— oh, ho ! oh !" laughed Haskell, 
doubled up over his own counter. Very much 
after the same order the whole crowd at the saloons 
and the taverns laughed half an hour afterwards 
when the transaction became fairly known. It cost 
the Captain a round sum in the way of " wetting" 
his bargain, the same afternoon and evening, and 
many a long day went by before he even tempora- 
rily heard the last of nis speculation in harness. 



VIII. 

BURSTING UP A QUORUM. 

The Board of Aldermen of a certain prominent 
city on the Western Continent, notorious for its 
lavish expenditure of money at all times, and of 
men in time of war — had a vacant chair a few sea- 
sons ago, which remained unfilled for many months. 
I happened at the time to hold the highly responsi- 
ble and lucrative position of fifth-wheel-ot- the-coach 
to that honorable body ; and even in that high place v 
where the dignity of the city was supposed to be 
resting in all confidence, I occasionally saw a bit of 
drollery worth recording. The most marked was in 
connection with the vacancy just mentioned. 

Alderman J G , of the th district, 

died suddenly not long after his election, leaving 
that vacant chair to be draped in funeral crape and 
stared wonderingly at by the people in the lobby. 
For certain reasons, there was no intention what- 
ever on the part of the board, of ordering an election 
to fill the vacancy. The full board numbered sev- 
enteen, and as then constituted it stood nine dem- 
ocrats to seven republicans, with a democrat of 
course in the chair, and one of the democrats a lit- 
tle doubtful when it came to close voting. The 

th district was known to be republican, and if 

the vacancy should be filled the board would stand 
nine and eight, with one of the majority not to be 



BURSTING UP A QUORUM. 79 

depended upon in emergencies. This would be de- 
cidedly too close work, and accordingly the majo- 
rity kept the place vacant. Resolution after reso- 
lution had been introduced by the minority, order- 
ing an election in ^he th district, but eacji had 

been so conclusively voted down that the matter 
was considered hopeless and dropped by general 
consent. 

One evening of the fall of 185-, however, there was 
a sudden change in the programme. One of the dem- 
ocratic members had gone to Europe during the sum- 
mer and had not yet returned ; another was out-West 
on business ; and one or two more did not happen 
to make their appearance. Result — the board found 
itself in session on that evening, for a wonder, with 
a republican majority. All the seven republicans 
were present, with live democrats, making twelve 
members present in all — nine being the necessary 
quorum for the transaction of business. Not long 
after the usual routine business of the session had 
been transacted, I saw that there was mischief ahead 
of some character. The republican leaders were 
whispering together and chuckling a little, and one 
or two mysterious slips of paper passed from one 
end of the long circular desks to the other. Then I 
saw blank looks suddenly fall upon the faces of the 
democratic leaders, and 1 knew that they too saw 
the brewing mischief. President Lancey, (that 
name will do as well as any other for the occasion) 
a keen-faced, thin and wiry young man, and one of 
the ablest presiding officers I have ever seen in any 
body, was drawing his moustache down a little 
nervously, and I could see that he was biting his 
lips. Directly the blow fell, in a resolution sent 
up to the President's desk and handed me to read 
aloud : 



80 BURSTING UP A QUORUM. 

" Resolved, That the Clerk of this Board be di- 
rected to issue the proper notifications for an elec- 
tion for a member of this Board from the — — th 
district of this city, to fill the vacancy occasioned 
by the death of Alderman J G , said elec- 
tion to take place on the day of , 185 — ." 

Phew ! here was a thunderbolt, indeed ! The 
minority had temporarily become the majority, from 
the default of the latter ; and they had determined 
to ignore the usual courtesies shown by a minority 
when accidentally placed in the majority in this 
way, and force an election in the vacant district. 
They clearly had the power for the moment, and 
quite as clearly they were determined to exercise it 
to the full extent. Would they succeed? That re- 
mained to be seen. 

I think that by this time one of the five dem- 
ocrats had gone home for the evening, unconscious 
of any danger, leaving only four to oppose the' 
seven republicans. That four was composed of Pre- 
sident Lancey, before mentioned, keen, though 
clerkly and even editorial, and as sharp a political 
manager and parliamentarian as one needs to meet 
on a summer's day ; Poole, the most effective manag- 
ing floor member I have ever seen in any deliberative 
body, excellent at building a political craft, and con- 
sidered to " carry a good many guns," if not to exer- 
cise the influence of a Controller, in nominating con- 
ventions ; Haddam, a moderate partizan and a clever 
fellow, who delighted in throwing occasional shots 
into Poole and others, which sometimes moved the 
house ; and a fourth, whose personality I have real- 
ly forgotten. I have partially forgotten, too, who 
were the republican leaders on the occasion, but 
judging from the date they must have been Pucker, 



BURSTING UP A QUORUM. 81 

Sparr, Breed and Admiral Wynes, or some names 
very like them. 

Lancey saw the full danger in a moment. So did 
P<>ole. Up sprang the latter the moment the reso- 
lution was done reading. 

" I move that this board do now adjourn !" 

" Aye !" " aye !" " aye !" cried the two or three 
other democrats ; but " no !" " no !" " no !" came 
back from tlie other side of the house, and much 
more plentifully. 

"Ayes and noes!" demanded Poole, who evident- 
ly meant to fight it out, and to gain all the time 
possible, in the hope that some other diversion, 
might be effected. The ayes and noes were taken, 
and the vote stood four for adjournment and seven 
against. So the board did not adjourn. 

" I move that the resolution just read be adopt- 
ed," said one of the republicans. " Question !" 
" question !" cried one of the others, determined to 
shut off all debate if such a thing was possible. 

"Not so fast!" said Poole. "Mr. President, I 
move a reconsideration of the vote just taken," (on 
the adjournment). 

"Nonsense !" said one of the republicans. 

" We will see whether it is nonsense !" answered 
Poole. " Mr. President, I move for a reconside- 
ration." 

President Lancey, whose eyes began to twinkle 
with mischief, begged the indulgence of the board 
for a few minutes, while he looked into some autho- 
rities lying on the desk, on the parliamentary ques- 
tion whether a motion to reconsider a lost vote for 
adjournment was strictly in order. He occupied 
about a quarter of an hour in making the research, 
while the republicans fidgeted and the democrats 
thought that they began to see daylight. He then 
decided that according to " Jefferson's Manual " 
4* 



82 BURSTING UP A QUORUM. 

and other books, which he had been consulting, he 
thought that a motion to reconsider a lost vote on 
an adjournment could not be entertained. It is 
scarcely necessary to say that he had not been look- 
ing between the covers of any work on parliamen- 
tary usage, and that he knew what " Jefferson's 
Manual " would say on so ridiculous a subject, quite 
as well before looking as after. 

" Question !.'■ " question !" again cried some of 
the republicans. 

* The question will be on the resolution offered 
by the Alderman from the — th,"said the President, 
rising very gravel v. " Are you ready for the ques- 
tion ?" 

" I move that the resolution be referred to the 
Committee on Arts and Sciences," said Iladdam. 

" There is a mot : on already before the board, and 
of course such a motion cannot be in order," said 
one of the republicans. 

" Eh, isn't it, Mr. President ?" added Iladdam, as 
gravely as if he did not know better. 

" No," said the President, " the gentleman from 

the th is out of order. The question will be on 

t h e .» 

"I believe a motion to amend is in order; isn't 
it, Mr. President?" said Poole, looking as defiantly 
at the President as it* he thought that official had 
just been doing him a gross personal injury. 

"It is," said the President. 

"Then I move," said Poole, "to amend the reso- 
lution by substituting for the date therein named, the 
29rh day of December, 185 — ," naming a time just 
two days before the expiration of the term for which 
the new member would be elected. 

Amid the cries of "shame," "humbug," <&c., 
from the republicans, President Lancev gravely put 
the question on the amendment, which was pretty 



BURSTING UP A QUORUM. 83 

plainly lost Then Haddam called for the ayes and 
noes, which were taken, and the amendment de- 
clared lost by four to seven. 

At this stage, other business having intervened 
so as to make such a motion again in order, Poole 
moved u that this board do now adjourn," on which 
the ayes and noes were again taken, with the same 
result as before. More cries of " question !" " ques- 
tion ! 1 ' from the republicans, who evidently had not 
faltered a whit in their intention to force the matter 
through, albeit it was now growing a little late. 
Poole, finding his other tactics driven to the wall, 
now rose to speak on the main question. As may 
be supposed, his principal intention was to " speak 
against time," in the hope of worrying out the op- 
position, and he did not stint himself in the way of 
introduction, explanation or apology. In about half 
an hour of earnest declamation he cleared away the 
surrounding obstructions, and succeeded in getting 
into the neighborhood of his subject. By that time 
the lobby was partially cleared, and two of the re- 
porters had gone to sleep at the table. Then he 
launched into a historical examination of the rules 
governing public bodies — cited instances from the 
history of the Senate of Rome, to prove that no 
public body was considered to be any the less com- 
pletely constituted on account of the absence of one 
or more of its members, provided there was a quo- 
rum for the transaction of the public business, etc. 

At this stage one of the republicans (probably 
Alderman Rucker) fell into the trap of helping 
Poole along. He interrupted that orator to show 

him that keeping the people of the th district 

without a representative in the board, while they 
were taxed for the support of the city government, 
was precisely that system of *' taxation without re- 
presentation," which brought on the troubles be- 



84: BURSTING UP A QUORUM. 

tween the colonies and the mother country, and 
that such a course struck at the very foundation of 
the rights of freemen. 

Then Poole used a quarter of an hour to apologise 
to the board for his inadvertence in that particular, 
and to admit the gentleman's very correct view of 
the subject, under some circumstances, but not in 
circumstances like the present, when the city was 
to be saddled with the heavy expense of a special 
election without due cause. 

By this time the reporters had woke up and gone 
away; President Lancey had picked his teeth and 
pared his nails until there was no longer any ex- 
cuse for continuing those operations ; and Poole, 
fairly run out, managed to throw in a few person- 
alities at one of the opposition. Up popped the 
attacked member, and called him to order. He 
insisted that "he was in order, and the President de- 
cided that he was not, when Poole appealed from 
the decision of the chair and called the ayes and 
noes on the appeal. The chair was sustained, by a vote 
of seven to three, and Poole sat down, thoroughly 
beaten out, but after having managed to consume 
an hour and a quarter and made the time some- 
where between ten and eleven o'clock. 

' At about this time the fourth of the democratic 
members, who had taken no share in the debates, 
though he had voted with the party — took his hat 
and left the chamber. One of the republican mem- 
bers, the moment after noticing he was gone, called 
attention to the fact, and intimated that he had 
" dodged " with the intention of defeating the ob- 
noxious measure by leaving the board without a 
quorum. 

" No, I guess not," said Poole, " I think he has 
only stepped down stairs for a moment. I'll have 
him back at all events, for I mean that this matter 



BURSTING UP A QUORUM. 85 

shall be met squarely." His face was so gravely 
conscientious, meanwhile, that the least credulous 
of men might have been excused for trusting him. 
He went out without his hat, to look for the absent 
member; but it seemed that he must have got lost 
in the intricate passages of the hall, for after the 
board had suspended business and waited for him 
at least a quarter of an hour, he did not seem to 
come back, much less bring the member of whom he 
had started in search. 

At this stage of affairs one of the republican mem- 
bers became indignant, and rose to make a very 
short but very pithy speech. 

"Mr. President," he said, "this conduct is out- 
rageous ! It is evidently the intention of certain mem- 
bers of this board to perpetuate an injustice, and 
prevent the public business being done, by leaving 
the board without a quorum. Two have already 
left the room within a few minutes, leaving us, as 
you will perceive, barely a quorum." (There were 
now present, it will be remembered, the President, 
Haddam and the seven republicans, making the ne- 
cessary nine and not one to spare. If one more 
could manage to get away, the game would be up, 
effectually). "I call upon you, Mr. President," he 
went on — " I call upon you, as the executive officer 
of this board, to do your duty and prevent any 
other member leaving the room until adjournment." 

"Certainly!" said President Lancey, rising with 
dignity and bending a sharp eye on the Sergeant-at- 
Arms, as if he had been at fault in permitting so 
many of the members to leave. " This conduct is 
entirely improper, and must not be repeated. Mr. 
Sergeant-at-Arms, keep that gate closed until you 
have orders to open it, and see that no other mem- 
ber leaves the chamber !" 

The Sergeant-at-Arms nodded, and looked at the 



86 BURSTING UP A QUORUM. 

fastenings of his iron gate. The republican faces 
relaxed: they yet had their rats in the trap, and 
there was really no escape. 

" Question !" " question !" said one or two, again, 
confident that it conld not be staved off an y longer. 

'• One moment, if you please, gentlemen !" said 
President Lancey, " I may have a word or two to 
say upon this subject. Mr. Haddam, be kind 
enough to take the chair for a few minutes." 

He came down from the President's chair, and 
Alderman Haddam went up and took the seat and 
the gavel. President Lancey took the same privilege 
which some of the others had during the evening, 
to speak from the centre of the open space between 
the desks ; and as he had a loud voice and an ef- 
fective utterance, he went pretty well down the 
circle towards the gate. Here he turned, looked 
towards the President pro tern., fixed his sharp eye 
full on him, threw himself into an oratorical posi- 
tion, and commenced what was evidently intended 
to be the oration of his official term : 

" Mr. President, on this important subject — " 

Future ages will be under the necessity of wait- 
ing for the balance of this oration, as those present 
have done ever since ; for making a sudden turn, 
two steps and a spring, the President who, among 
his accomplishments, numbered that of being a very 
respectable gymnast, went flying o\ er the gate and 
over the head of the Sergeant-at-Arms, who sat 
faithfully beside it, and before human arm could 
arrest and almost before human eye could see he 
was out of the outer door and gone beyond pursuit. 

" I don't think we have a quorum, call the roll, 
Mr. Clerk!" said Alderman Haddam, President 
pro tern. The roll was called, and only eight mem- 
bers answered. " A quorum not being present," 
the President said, coolly, and bringing down hia 



BURSTING UP A QUORUM. 87 

mallet with a portentous rap that sounded the death- 
knell of the republican hopes for that occasion — " a 
quorum not being present, this board stands ad- 
journed to Monday evening." About five minutes 
afterwards, seven remarkably sheepish looking Al- 
dermen, and one who seemed very well content with 
himself and the world, might have been seen leaving 
the Aldermanic chamber, bearing the hats of Poole 
and the President, which they had captured and 
confiscated. And tin's was apparently all the aspect 
of the affair, but really far from it ! 

For it was only a day or two after that I met 
Poole, and commenced laughing with him over the 
occurrence. ' ; A pretty close shave!" I said, U I 
thought at one time you were gone, and that they 
would have forced the vote and carried the resolu- 
tion in spite of you !■" 

" Humph ! did you ?" said Poole, with a glance 
expressive of pity for any one who could be so ver- 
dant. "Did you, indeed ? I don't think there was 
any danger, after /got away." 

w Eh, why not '?" I asked. " Suppose they had hap- 
pened to detect Lancey in his gymnastic trick, and 
detained him ? What would you have done then?" 

(i In that case," answered Poole, " as I was at that 
moment in the cellar, in intimate relation with the 
gas-metre, and with telegraphic communication 
above — if I found that Lancey could not make his 
escape, I should immediately have turned off the 
gas from the chamber, and I think he might have 
managed to get away while they were hunting up 
candles !" 

I quite agreed with him ; and at all events I was 
wiser then than before, as to the resources of pro- 
fessional politicians and the plans that can be put 
into operation by moral and physical gymnasts for 
bursting up a legislative quorum that may happen 
to have the wrong apolitical complexion. 



IX. 

PILOTING WITHOUT A LICENSE. 

Sanderson and I were " lying off," as the fast 
boys express it, on Smith's Island, that delightful 
retreat in the middle of the Delaware, opposite 
.Philadelphia, where bathing is very free and 
where the.y sell excellent clam-soup as well as quite 
respectable ice-cream. The day was hot and Phila- 
delphia was unendurable ; and Sanderson had been 
guilty of a practical j<>ke in the Empire City a few 
days previous, which made a temporary sojourn 
elsewhere desirable. As we lay kicking up our 
heels on the benches, one of the Camden ferry- 
boats, coming up to her slip, ran into a lighter, and 
the incident put me in mind to tell Sanderson 
Oakey Hall's capital story, told by the " Manhat- 
taner in New Orleans," of Dick Benbow's experi- 
ment at amateur piloting, when he ran the Red 
River packet into the big Indiaman and caused 
such a commotion in and about the Crescent City. 

" A very good story," said Sanderson, when I had 
finished, " and probably the longest as well as the 
biggest lie ever told on Smith's Island. However, 
it is none the worse for that, and some fellow who 
had a propensity for practical jokes might take a 
hint from it. hi fact — well, no matter what is the 
fact. I once did a little amateur piloting myself, 
though only in a very small way, and on a sailing 
vessel." 



PILOTING WITHOUT A LIOENSK. 89 

" All !" I said, with interest. " Where, and 
how?" 

" Coming np tlie Lower Bay of New York from 
the Fishing Banks, on a sloop," he replied. " Half 
a dozen of ns had hired the sloop for a trip down, 
and coming in we got becalmed near the point of 
the Hook. Here we drifted about until after dark, 
and only crept np towards the Narrows at a snail's 
pace. , We had a card table in the cabin, and play- 
ed most of the evening, while the sloop was lazily 
rolling about between Romer Shoal and the West 
Bank. I got tired of the amusement after awhile, 
and went out. There was only a boy at the tiller ; 
and a sleepy look out, if any, forward, as the cap- 
tain and the two hands had gone down into the fore- 
castle to supper. 

" I have sometimes had a fancy that I could steer 
a boat, and that evening the fancy was particularly 
strong. I found the boy a little sleepy, the sloop 
within a couple of miles of the light at the Nar- 
rows, the wind very light from the south-east, and 
things generally quiet. I very soon suggested to 
him that Zknew how to steer, and as he knew that 
I was one of the persons who had hired the boat, lie 
made no objection to my taking the helm, merely 
remarking that I must keep her head as it was, 
with the Narrows light a little on the larboard bow. 
I promised care, and the little fellow was asleep in 
five minutes, under the quarter-rail. 

" I don't know how it was — how I could possibly 
have lost that light, but lose it I did. Perhaps I 
was looking more at the stars than the course of the 
sloop, at one time. At all events, I kept a light 
which I supposed to be that of the light house, on 
the larboard bow, faithfully. I have reason to 
believe that the light-house got behind the sail 
somehow, and that 1 was steering for a light iu one 



90 PILOTING WITHOUT A LICENSE. 

of the windows of some house back on the Staten 
Island bluff. The breeze from the south-east cer- 
tainly freshened finely, and the little sloop was 
going through the water very nicely, when — " 

" Well when what?" I asked impatiently. 

" When my amateur pilotage came to a sudden 
conclusion. The sloop went ashore, head on, with 
a fresh breeze, on the Staten Island beach, about 
half way between the Narrows and the old Elm 
Tree, where there was at that time no light." 

"Whew!" I said. 

" Yes, ' whew ' it was !" responded Sanderson. " I 
have an idea that the captain and men came out 
from supper, the men at the card table broke up and 
came out of the cabin, the look-out, if there was any, 
w T oke up forward, and my sailor-boy aft — very much 
at the same time. I cannot say exactly what oc- 
curred. We had been towing the yawl behind, and 
I knew that the oars were in her. I suppose it 
must have been a dastardly trick, to desert my com- 
rades and carry off the only boat, at a time of ship- 
wreck ; but I did not think them in any great dan- 
ger, on the Staten Island shore in a calm night ; 
and certain it is that I let myself down by the davit- 
fall, about as quick as I would have absconded from 
the window of a house where I had been caught 
stealing ; dropped in the water— clambered into the 
boat — cut her adrift — and rowed away to the shore, 
half a mile above, almost before any of them discov- 
ered the cause of the catastrophe." 

" Recreant !" I said, in the pauses of my hearty 
guffaw over Sanderson's exploit. 

" Recreant, of course !" he replied. u Any one 
always is, who manages to get out of a scrape and 
leave the others in ! I slept at a Staten Island fish- 
hut, the balance of the night, after drying myself. 
The sloop had gone up pretty high, and one of the 



PILOTING WITHOUT A LICENSE. 91 

sailors waded ashore, found the boat, and ferried off 
the others. We all reached New York at about the 
same time the next morning. The sloop go f off on 
a spring tide, within a week, and there was a small 
bill to pay for detention and repairs, which they all 
insisted that I should pay alone, and which I didnH. 
Pretty gratitude ! to mulct me in damages for an 
accident occurring when I was daring the dangers 
of the sea as a volunteer, and the rest taking their 
pleasure !" 

Of course I assented to his view of the case. Who 
would not, with so jolly a fellow as Sanderson ? At 
about that time the sea-steamer John Smith made 
her landing at the Island, and we took passage on 
that noble craft for the foot of Walnut street, San- 
derson seemed pre-occupied, and there was some- 
thing in his face to indicate that his great soul was 
struggling with still greater thoughts. I did not for 
the time disturb him, confident that the pre-oceupa- 
tion would before long develope itself. 

We dined at Bloodgood's, a hotel I have always 
had a weakness for selecting, as it furnishes capital 
plum pies for dinner all the year round, and lies so 
near the river that lazy people do not have any dis- 
tance to travel when going on boat excursions. 
When we had finished dinner, and were enjoying 
the post-prandial cigar, Sanderson asked : 

*'Have you ever been down to Fort Mifflin V 

" Never/' I replied. " Why? have you suddenly 
picked up an interest in fortification V 

u No," he rejoined, " but 1 saw a steamboat 
named the Ceres one or two piers below, that runs 
down there. Suppose we go down and look at the 
scenery." 

" Well," I said ; and we started. On the next 
block was a ship-chandler's store, and when oppo- 
site the door Sanderson stopped me. 



92 PILOTING WITHOUT A LICENSE. 

"I have got an errand here," he remarked. 

" Ropes ? eh, what ? not going to hang yourself?" 
I suggested. 

" Not if I know it," was Sanderson's reply, " But 
still I have a purchase to make. Come in a mo- 
ment." 

We entered the store,, and Sanderson inquired for 
" black hemp twine, very small." What the deuce 
could he want of it? He said that he wanted to 
make a fishing-line of it, but I had no idea that he 
was really going fishing. A ball of very fine, strong 
dark twine was produced. Sanderson paid a " bit 
for it, then cut off probably twenty feet, and made 
the shop-keeper a present of the balance. He then 
asked for, procured and pocketed, half a pound of 
sheet-lead, for a " sinker," as he said. I now knew 
there was deviltry ahead, but had no idea what it 
could be, and my companion did not explain. 

We went down the pier and on board the Ceres, 
then just off for Fort Mifflin, ten or a dozen miles 
down the Delaware. Arrived at the promenade- 
deck, on which there happened to be no one but 
ourselves for the moment, Sanderson unfolded the 
string and his intentions. 

" Do you see that hook ?" he asked, calling my 
attention to a bell-pull that lay perpendicularly 
along the flag-staff at the extreme stern, the hooked 
part downwards. 

I remarked that I did, and volunteered the infor- 
mation that it was connected, by a wire running up 
the staff and along one of the rails of the promen- 
ade-deck covering, with the engine-room, and that 
it was put there for the purpose of enabling the 
captain or pilot, in case either happened to be 
astern, and any one fell overboard or any other ac- 
cident happened which miglit require the boat to be 



PILOTING WITHOUT A LICENSE. 93 

suddenly stopped, — to ring the engineer's bell with- 
out delay. 

" Just so," said Sanderson. "Now I'm not the 
captain, but the pilot, as we were talking a while 
ago. You have jnst put me in the notion of it, by 
your New Orleans story, and I am going to ring 
that bell when I get ready." 

"When?" 

" When we get out in the stream," he replied. 

" And with the—" 

"With the string, of course," he replied. "You 
don't suppose that I am fool enough to stand up here 
and be caught in the operation 2" 

" But the consequences — you do not know what 
damage you may do ?" I began to say. 

" Do you know what Dick Benbow remarked, in 
the story you were telling ?" he replied. " Now I 
say emphatically with him, ' the devil take the con- 
sequences.' I won't ask you to help ; all I want is 
that you should keep still, if you don't want to be 
murdered !" 

Under such circumstances, of course, I promised 
to " keep still," and the drama proceeded. 

The Ceres had left the dock by this time, and was 
out in the stream. A considerable number of per- 
sons were coming up on the promenade, and dis- 
tributing themselves along the seats. Sanderson 
took his seat beside the flag-staff, with myself at the 
left, and smoked rapidly. Then adroitly doubling the 
twine, he hooked the bight or double of it over the 
bell-pull, and let the two ends drop down towards 
the railing below. The cord was very fine and 
small, and no casual observer would have been at 
all likely to see it. Sanderson got up from his seat, 
remarking that we had both lost our lights, and that 
we must go below and replenish. I followed him, 
I confess with some feeling of trepidation, for 1 



94 PILOTING WITHOUT A LICENSE. 

never know preciselj' when a practical joke comes 
to an end, much more than I do how much damage 
a wild bnll may do, let out in a crowd. 

Arrived below, Sanderson nudged me again, and 
we went back to the extreme stern of the main 
deck, in the narrow space occupied by the anchor, 
between the railing and the saloon bulkhead. For- 
tunately (or unfortunately) there was no one in the 
way, and the two ends of the cord hung quietly 
down within reach. The steamboat was now well 
off from the town, but pretty well' surrounded by 
steamboats and ferry-boats, and with a few sloops 
and schooners beating down against the breeze 
from the southward. 

" I think now is about the time !" said Sanderson, 
and before I could expostulate, and almost before I 
could think, he gave a violent jerk at the two ends 
of the cord which he had caught in his hand. 
" Cling !" went the gong in the engine room, and 
we could distinctly hear the sound astern. The mo- 
tion of the boat slowed instantly. Another jerk, the 
moment after. "Cling!" went the gong again, and 
the engine stopped very hurriedly. Then there was 
a sound of the gong which must have come from the 
pilot-house and was probably the single pull of the 
bewildered pilot to go-ahead. But I am not clear 
as to what occurred. Sanderson was getting in a 
hurry, and he gave the cords two sudden jerks. 
" Cling— cling !" went the gong, and the puzzled 
engineer must have made an attempt to back her a 
little too suddenly, for something gave way with a 
crash in the engine-room, and in an instant the 
Ceres began to blow steam. With a celerity wor- 
thy of a better cause, Sanderson instantly let go one 
end of the cord, jerked hard on the other — it came 
down into his hands — and before I could tell what 



PILOTING WITHOUT A LICENSE. 95 

lie intended, he had wrapped the string around the 
sheet-lead and dropped it quietly overboard. 

At this moment there was a general scream from 
the upper deck, and at about the same time Sand- 
erson and myself left the stern with some rapidity. 
It appears that we must have been crossing the bow 
of a large topsail schooner running on-a-wind, that 
had been hidden by the wood-work of the saloon 
from Sanderson and myself. Of course the sudden 
stoppage of the steamboat brought her full in the 
course of the schooner ; and at this period her flying- 
jib-boom and bowsprit struck the Ceres on the star- 
board quarter of the saloon, sending everybody for- 
ward in a hurry, and carrying away everything 
clean to the deck on that part of the boat. The 
schooner had fortunately been .filled away the in- 
stant those on board of her perceived that the 
steamboat had stopped, and she did not strike our 
hull. Had she done so, at the speed she was going, 
Or had we been six feet farther astern, we should 
have been instantly sunk, without a question. 

To say that I was frightened, in the midst of the 
crash and the uncertainty how much damage had 
been done to the boat and in the engine-room — and 
among the curses, screams and general confusion 
that resulted, — would be a very moderate admis- 
sion. I caught a glimpse of Sanderson's face at 
the moment of the crash ; it may have expressed 
fright, but if it did the feeling was so covered up 
beneath an expression of calm content and arduous 
duty well-accomplished, that I could not see it. 

I cannot very well relate what happened after- 
wards. Of course no one but ourselves knew how 
the accident occurred, or who could have rung the 
bell. It is to be presumed that neither of us was 
communicative on the subject. The disabled and 
mutilated Ceres was soon surrounded by steamboats, 



96 PILOTING WITHOUT A LICENSE. 

ferry-boats and row-boats, and the passengers taken 
off, Sanderson and myself included. For some 
cause, ^indefinable even by ourselves, we went to 
Baltimore by the evening train. I doubt whether, 
to this day, (and several years have since elapsed) 
— any outsider has ever been aware of the origin of 
the accident, or guessed how much the owners of 
the good steamboat Ceres owed to Sanderson's last 
experiment at piloting without a license. 



I ^ 



X. 

THE MAJOR'S HORSE-OPERATION. 



I happened to make the acquaintance of both the t 
principal actors in the short story I am about to tell, 
a few months ago, on a lazy afternoon spent with a 
droll friend at South Brooklyn, and to be a specta- 
tor of a considerable part of the operation, the bal- 
ance of which was supplied by the best authority. 

Both the principal dramatis personse are well 
known in certain sections, but as they may not have 
the world-wide celebrity which they really deserve, 
I must tell who and what they are. 

" Pancake Johnny " is a contractor for removing 
certain embankments and other inconveniences ly- 
ing in the way of opening certain streets, by the 
means of which- Brooklyn is swallowing half Long 
Island and extending itself to the sea. " Pancake " 
employs a good many horses and carts, and has 
quite an extensive stable attached to his tumble- 
down premises on the — well no matter what avenue. 

He has acquired his queer soubriquet by turn- 
ing out all the women from his kitchen, years ago, 
ana attending to the cooking o£ breakfast for his 
army of hands — himself ; and by persisting in the 
habit of giving everybody, young and old, winter 
and summer, year after year — pancakes for break- 
fast. " Pancake" does not do any of the carting 
himself — only oversees it; and among his weak- 



98 THE MAJOR'S HORSE-OPERATION. 

nesses is one for very quiet horses, and horses in 
good condition — I mean such horses as he wishes to 
drive himself, in his explorations among his con- 
tracts and his occasional visits to Brooklyn or Ja- 
maica. 

"The Major" is a different stripe of man, altoge- 
ther. He is a darkey of the blackest type, small 
in stature, and with a cunning and yet good-humor- 
ed leer about the mouth and eyes. He is an .unmi- 
tigated horse jockey, and so recognized by all who 
know him, though he enjoys a fair reputation aa 
that sort of a horse-dealer who, when you trust him 
and put him "on his honor," will not cheat you 
over three hundred per cent. 

"The Major" has only a small amount of capital 
on hand, and buys his stock in small quantities ; 
but he generally manages to turn it so rapidly that 
his pocket is not long empty, and that his little 

stable on forty something th street, Gowanus, 

seldom has the same horses within it one day and 
the next. 

Pancake had been troubling the Major for some 
time to bring him a " nice pair of carriage horses." 
The Major had tried, and tried again in vain, by 
various purchases at Bull's Head and in other quar- 
ters, to meet the demand. One pair that he would 
take to Pancake would be too lively, another not 
fat enough, a third seemed too old, &c, &c, until 
the Major was almost in despair. 

Finally, the Major came across a team of broken- 
down hacks, fatted up like hugs, and sent to the 
Bull's Head to be disposed of. His practised eye 
marked them at once, and he thought that they 
would exactly suit his friend. One hundred dollars 
and a little close chaffering bought the pair. Two 
hours afterwards they were at the Major's stable, 
and an hour later he drove them up to Pancake's. 



99 



"Jes look a here!" said the Major. "Massa 
Johnny, tink I got 'era things to suit you dis ere 
time !" 

" Eh!" said Pancake, who was really taken with 
the looks of the hog fat quiet old cob?. " Eh, yes, 
well, they do look pretty well; what do you ask for 
them ?" 

"Three hundred dollars!" said the Major, giving 
his whip a flourish which did not startle either one 
of them from its propriety — " been lookin' for 'em 
awful long while — purpose for you. Got 'em dis 
morning, and brong it 'em right ober." 

"Three hundred !" said Pancake, "couldn't think 
of it! I like 'em pretty well, but couldn't give over 
two hundred!" 

"Now look a' here, Massa John," said the Major, 
imploringly, "don't be hard on a poornigga! Paid 
two hundred and fifty for 'em dis mornin', 'specially 
for you. Ef I don't get any more dan dat, I don't 
make nuffin !" 

The bait took with Pancake, but as he made it a 
rule never to pay the asking-price when it could be 
avoided, a little chaffering was necessary. 

" Give you two hundred and fifty, and not a cent 
more !" was his ultimatum. 

"Well, take 'em!" said the Major, after the ne- 
cessary pause and hesitation. " 'iSpose I can make 
an. udder trade in a day or two, 'fore dis nigga 
starves!" So the money was paid, and the Major 
left. 

Pancake put his new horses in the stable, and 
was happy. Two days afterwards, when he went 
into the stable to harness them up for a ride, his 
satisfaction was considerably diminished. One of 
them had stood idle a little too long, and something 
of his natural character came out. He had got 
loose in the stables, nearly eaten up a colt in a 



100 

neighboring stall, and kicked things to pieces gen- 
erally. 

Pancake made a muster of all the forces at his 
disposal, and managed to get his truculent steed 
penned up in a vacant stall apart from the others, 
where they threw in the feed to him and poured 
in his water through a trough. The same afternoon 
Pancake sent word to the Major to "come and take 
that horse away, right off, before he killed some- 
body." 

The Major protested his astonishment, as he " had 
only had the hosses for an hour or two, and couldn't 
have knowed nuffin about 'em !" He promised, 
however, that if lie could find another that lie 
thought would suit Pancake, he would try to make 
a trade for him, and with this the latter was obliged 
to be content. 

Two weeks later, when walking through the stalls 
at Bull's Head, the Major found another " magnifi- 
cent steed" — a fine looking horse of middle age, 
with the " heaves" to so great an extent that he 
could hardly walk up to the watering-trough. 

If there was anything that the Major could do, it 
was to " doctor" a horse for " heaves," and in a 
few minutes the horse was bought for thirty-seven 
dollars and fiftv cents, and duly transferred, after 
dark, to the Major's stable. Here he was "treated" 
by the Major to a course of ginger, " heave-pow- 
ders," &c, and in three days had a stock of wind on 
hand sufficient to last him, with moderate exercise, 
for a whole day. 

Then the Major finished arrangements. He em- 
ployed a half-Dutch young fellow, not known much 
in the neighborhood, and who was generally loaf- 
ing at a tavern a few miles toward Jamacia, — to 
act as confederate in the delicate matter of trading 
horses with Pancake, aware that the latter might 



101 



have some natural suspicions of any animal he 
brought. 

Dutch was to receive five dollars for his share 
in the operation, and his role was as follows : He 
was to drive slowly down the road past Pancake's, 
and at a certain time, drive np when called by the 
Major, understand no English, and talk none except 
" seventy-tive dollars to boot." The Major ringed 
him up in an old sulky, for the part, and then 
strolled leisurely along toward Pancake's. 

" Well, yon nigger," said Pancake, as soon as he 
saw the Major, " I thought you was going to get me 
another horse in the place of that one that eats up 
everybody ! He ain't no use to me — haven't used 
him a stroke since I had him." 

" Look a' here, Massa John," answered the Ma- 
jor, "de fac am, I has been looken for a nice boss 
for you, ever sence, but didn't find him. Dis morn- 
in' I did see a nice hoss, but — " 

"But what?" asked Pancake, "couldn't you get 
him ?" 

" Oh, didn't try, Massa John," said the Major. 
" One of dem Dutch farmers had him, to a sulky, 
tied afore de tavern above. He was specious nice 
hoss, Massa John : ef you only could ha' seen him, 
now !" 

" I should like to see him," said Pancake, who 
would have liked to see anything that promised him 
riddance of his plague. 

" Mebbe he's comin' dis way," said the Major, 
" he was on the avenue, wid his head dis way. 
Well, I clar to gracious!" the Major continued, 
catching a glimpse of Dutch, who at that moment 
hove in sight, going at a jog trot with the horse. 
" Well, if that ain't lucky. Cere's de berry feller, 
now !" 

" Are you sure ?" asked Pancake. 



102 



" Sure ? well I guess I am !" said the Major. 
" Dere ain't many such looking hosses as dat, 
around." 

In a few moments Dutch came opposite, and the 
Major at once commenced swinging his hat and hal- 
looing : 

" Heah ! look a heah, you ! Just drive up heah !" 

Dutchy heard and saw him, after a proper delay, 
and drove up. Pancake and the Major took a full 
survey of the horse, Dutch looking on with his 
mouth open and terribly astonished. Pancake and 
the Major exchanged private signs of approval. 

" Nice horse," said the Major to Dutch. 

"Yaw!" said Dutch, making a movement to go 
on. 

" Want to trade, eh ?" asked the Major. 

" Nein Anglaishe sprachen !" said Dutch. 

" Go bring out your horse," the Major suggested 
to Pancake, who obeyed. 

" Want to trade ? swap 'em ?" asked Pancake of 
Dutch. 

"Nein! nein!" answered Dutch vigorously. 
"Nix goot swop!" 

" How much will you take to swop 'em ?" asked 
the Major. 

" Now Major, you had better go away," said Pan- 
cake, " he may know you as a horse-jockey, and be 
afraid to trade. Go off, and let me deal with him." 

" Tink him afraid of dis nigger, eh ?" said the Ma- 
jor. " Well, I'll go if you say so, only don't give 
him too much boot!" and the Major sauntered away 
to a drinking-house a block below, from which he 
had a fair view of the scene of bargaining without 
being seen himself. 

He saw any quantity of motions, Pancake speak- 
ing rapidly, and Dutch shaking his head nearly all 
the time. At length Dutch nodded two or three 



THE MAJORS HORSE-OPERATION. 103 

times, and Pancake qnietly nibbed his hands : the 
Major knew that the bargain was concluded, and 
ordered a brandy sling to celebrate the event. Then 
he saw Pancake go into his rookery, come out and 
put something into Dutch's hand. Then they un- 
harnessed Dutch's horse, put Pancake's in its place, 
the latter led his new acquisition into the stable, 
and Dutch drove on down the road towards Fort 
Hamilton. The Major celebrated again. 

An hour after the horse just got from Pancake 
was in the Bull's Head stables — the Major not 
judging it politic to let it be seen in his ; Dutch 
was paid his five dollars and went away for a " high 
old drunk." 

After the Major went away, it appeared Dutch 
had demanded " one huntred tollar" as boot, upon 
which Pancake offered fifty, and- they finally "split 
the difference " at seventy-five. 

Two days afterwards the Major met Pancake, 
with his new purchase and another horse before a 
light wagon, laboring up a slight hill towards New 
Utretcht, the new horse unable to go faster than a 
walk, and heaving at a rate which would have sup- 
plied blacksmiths' bellows for a county. 

" Why, what on airth's de matter ?" asked the Ma- 
jor, surprised. 

" Matter !" said Pancake, with two or three bad 
words interspersed, " wh}^, that cussed Dutchman 
has traded me a horse that isn't worth a cop ! Hear 
how he blows, and he can't go off a walk, no how 
he can fix it I" 

" Well, dat is too bad, Massa John !" said the 
Major, " but look a' heah, you wouldn't trust dis 
nigger, and wanted to trade for youseff ! Just let 
dis nigger ha' stayed, and you wouldn't ha' been 
cheated !" 

" .No, I suppose not," said Pancake, starting on 



104 



his bellows, up hill ; but it is not clear that he meant 
that endorsement of the Major's integrity. He sold 
the new horse, two days after, for twenty-five dol- 
lars, to a clam-merchant, and the Major realized a 
hundred for his, at the Bull's Head, to a green Jer- 
sey man. The Major has not famished Pancake any 
stock since, or had not when I last heard from that 
locality. 



XT. 

THE LONG BRANCH MURDER. 



" It is devilish dull down here, devilish dull !" said 
one of the inmates of Blossom Lodge, that charm- 
ing little club-house in the rear of Sammy Laird's 
Mansion House, Long Branch, — one morning a 
couple of summers ago, as he came out of the bil- 
liard-room under the Lodge, where he had been 
fighting after impossible caroms and investing very 
possible quarters. No matter what was the real 
name of the speaker — suffice it to say that he was 
one of the habitues of the Lodge — one of the set 
who for some years have been in the habit of run- 
ning down about the first of July, and lounging 
about that paradise until the middle of September. 
When in the city he could be heard of not a thou- 
sand miles from the City Hall, and 1 shall call him 
for the occasion by a name immortalized by John 
B rougham — S mi th. 

The companion to whom he addressed that im- 

Eatient remark, was another inmate of the Lodge, 
nown as Captain Joe Darling, of the One Hundred 
and Sixth Ward Police. As everybody knows 
Captain Joe, I have not the least occasion for des- 
cribing him or attempting to give his leading char- 
acteristics, except to say that the most desperate 
ruffians have a habit of shrinking away before his 
eye — that his bald head, when lie uncovers it, gives 

5* 



106 THE LONG BRANCH MURDER. 

him a venerable appearance which is not belied by 
the extreme gravity of his general demeanor — -that 
his body, if one could but get a comprehensive view 
of it without the incumbrance of too much clothing, 
would show more scars won in the cause of justice, 
than many soldiers can show after passing through 
half a dozen bloody campaigns — that he is choice in 
the size and setting of his diamonds — and that he 
has a. devoted love for fun, music, pantomime, and 
the New Bowery theatre. 

"Dull, eh?'' said Captain Joe, in reply to his 
companion's remark. 

" Yes, devilish dull—and stupid !" said Smith. 
"I have got tired of going off fishing with those 
boatmen who charge two dollars for letting you 
burn yourself to a blister and wear all the skin off 
your 1 lands. I have got tired of walking up and 
down the bank and the beach ; and tired of riding 
over to Pleasure Bay to be upset in a small boat. 
All the women are dowdy or dignified, and I have 
a corn on my little toe which makes a hop detest- 
able. Now you have just beaten me at billiards, 
and I was tired of them before. Ileigho !" 

" Humph!" said Captain Joe, "you must have 
been up a little late last night, with that party that 
went over to Shrewsbury, while Lance and I were 
reading all the evening like Christians and went to 
bed at ten." 

" Oh no," said Smith, peevishly, " the fact is the 
place is dull I There is not a sensation within ten 
miles of it, and I am going up to the city to-mor- 
row." 

" Stop !" said Captain Joe, his face lighting up 
with some kind of a thought that was not far from 
inspiration. "Stop! don't go — at least don't go 
just yet. You want your tea a little stronger to- 



THE LONG BRANCH MURDER. 107 

night, that is all, and you should have had a dash 
of Congress water this morning. Dull, eh?" 

" Yes, dull !" repeated Smith, with a yawn. 

" Well now, see here," said Captain Joe. " You 
and I haven't booked a bet since last election. Stay 
where you are for twenty-four hours, and then go 
to the city if you wish. Meanwhile I'll just bet 
you one even fifty that there is excitement enough 
on Long Branch, within that time, to satisfy even 
you? 

"Done," said Smith. "You are pretty fast, Joe, 
but you cannot scare up an excitement in that time, 
that will make a fellow's pulse beat faster by five to 
the minute." 

" I'll try," said Captain Joe, " and if I don't suc- 
ceed in satisfying you, just ask me for fifty after 
breakfast; and if I do, just pay over the same 
amount. Meanwhile, honor bright and hold your 
tongue, whatever you may see or hear — that is part 
of the conditions of the bet." 

"Agreed,'' said Smith, and the two separated, 
Smith to look after some means of killing time for 
twenty-four hours more, and Captain Joe to corres- 
ponding arrangements for making it livelier. 

Half an hour afterwards Captain Joe was walk- 
ing up the bank, in close conversation with Lance, 
the patron of Blossom Lodge, a slight man with a 
bright face, a thin moustache, and an immense 
amount of blue flannel suit — and his lieutenant and 
comrade, commonly known as the " Colonel," a 
stouter built man with a round, good-humored face 
and a moustache that might have satisfied a mem- 
ber of Napoleon's Old Guard. Both Lance and the 
Colonel had more or less to do with official business 
in the city at the time — one in a highly lucrative 
and honorable position at the City Hall, and the 
other in a subordinate one in the brown stone build- 



108 THE LONG BRANCH MURDER. 

ing, which he has since exchanged for the service of 
the corporation inside the white marble. 

What occurred between the three, can only be 
fancied, but that mischief was in the wind was most 
certain, from the drawing of Lance's mouth, the 
broad grins of the Colonel, and the quiet chuckles 
which shook Captain Joe to the ends of his boots. 
It is to be supposed that like a good general Captain 
Joe was issuing his orders for some great roguery 
that was to follow. 

An hour afterwards the fishing boats landed at 
the Fish-house above, and the Colonel strolled down 
to see the operation of weighing the fish, packing 
them in ice in the wagons, and sending them away 
for the inland and Philadelphia markets. Half an 
hour later, when the fish had all been disposed of, 
the Colonel, who had become pretty well acquainted 
with the fishermen, went up to Ab. Reed's with Sim 
Casey, a young snarer of sea bass and porgies, and 
an unmarried man, who fished alone. They took a 
drink at the bar, which Casey thought a pleasant 
condescension on the part of the Colonel. Directly 
the Colonel inquired — 

" How much do you average a dav, Casey, at 
fishing ?" 

" Oh, from three to five dollars," said the fisher- 
man. 

"Do you want to do a job for me for twice the 
money, that will only take you the one day V 

"Suppose so," said Casey, " providing — " 

" Oh, providing everything !" said the Colonel. 
'" What I want you to do is just this. Go away to- 
night, to Deal, Squan, or anywhere, letting nobody 
see you go, and leaving your boat where she lies. 
Remain away until to-morrow afternoon — ask no 
questions, and here is your ten dollars. Of course 



THE LONG BRANCH MURDER. 109 

there is a joke, but not on you, and I'll tell you all 
about it afterwards. "Will vou do it ?" 

" I'll do it !" said Casey. " 

" Make a big chalk-mark on the top of the stem 
of your boat, in the shape of a cross, so that it can 
be seen by moonlight," continued the Colonel — " and 
that is all." 

Casey promised, and the Colonel wended his way 
back towards the Mansion House and his prepara- 
tions for dinner. 

That afternoon Lance ordered out his horses, and 
Captain Joe and himself drove up to Long Branch 
Village. Of course they had some errand there. 
Among other places that Captain Joe visited, was 
the butcher's. Then he went to the barber's and 
had a splendid shave. What else he did at either 
of the places, is among the mysteries yet to be re- 
vealed. If he brought away anything from either, 
he carried it in his pockets. Late in the afternoon 
the two drove back to the beach, and the evening 
passed away very much as usual. The night was a 
moonlight one, and Captain Joe may have strolled 
up the beach to enjoy it, as he often did — but if he 
did, nobody noticed him. 

Morning, and a horrible sensation in the usually 
peaceful if not quiet precincts of the Long Branch 
boarding-houses. Startled messengers rushed in, 
bearing the intelligence that Sim Casey's boat had 
not gone off to the fishing-grounds that morning ; 
that Sim Casey had disappeared and could not be 
found by any amount of enquiry ; and that a dread- 
ful murder had been committed, as a bloody club 
had been found in his boat, and mixed blood and 
hair on one of its sides. There could be no ques- 
tion, from the disappearance of the murdered man's 
body, that he had been induced to take some one or 
more off in the boat, by moonlight or very early in 



110 THE LONG- BRANCH MURDER. 

the morning — that he had been murdered there with 
the club, and thrown overboard — and that the mur- 
derers, in bringing the boat ashore, had forgotten to 
throw overboard the fatal club and failed to obliter- 
ate all the marks of the foul deed. 

Immense was the excitement — so immense that 
Smith paid over the fifty to Captain Joe, shortly af- 
ter breakfast, quietly, without asking any questions, 
and with a look that indicated his belief that the 
world was considerably smarter than he had once 
supposed it. All the boarders from all the houses 
rushed down to the scene of the tragedy. All the 
country people who heard of it (and they were hun- 
dreds in an hour or two) rushed in the same direc- 
tion. The Coroner was sent for (no great distance, 
it is true) and arrived, though there was nobody 
(unfortunately) to inspect or "sit upon." Every- 
body talked murders of every kind, and this mur- 
der in particular. Poor Casey ! — everybody said, 
especially those who had never known or cared 
about him. Captain Joe Darling, an old expert in 
the detection of crime, was called upon to examine 
the boat, the club, the blood and the hair, and gave 
it as his opinion that a fouller crime had never been 
committed. Victims were wanted by an enraged 
populace and an alarmed and horrified fifteen hun- 
dred of boarders. Had the terrible crimes of the 
city, then, really extended to the peaceful sea-shore ? 
Was human life no longer sate anywhere ? Two 
darkey waiters at one of the hotels, who had been 
oil" on a female darkey expedition the night before, 
and consequently could not give a very straight ac- 
count of themselves, were strongly suspected of hav- 
ing satisfied some old grudge against poor Casey, 
and there was talk of lynching them. Finally a 
poor red-nosed toper who hung around Reed's, and 
who had once been heard to utter drunken hard 



THE LONG BRANCH MURDER. Ill 

• 

words against Casey because he refused to treat, was 
arrested, examined before the Coroner^ and seem- 
cured in a fair way to take up his abode in Freehold 
jail, though everybody knew that he could neither 
row a boat nor commit any effectual violence on a 
child of ten years old. A reporter for one of the 
morning papers, who was down at the Branch on 
furlough and free board, started for the steamboat 
within half an hour after the discovery of the crime ; 
and it was to his vigorous pen, enjoying for the mo- 
ment the monopoly of an interesting subject — that 
the good people of this city were indebted for the 
paragraphs with startling headings which appeared 
in all the papers the same evening and the next 
morning : " Atrocious Murder at Long Branch ! 
Great Excitement at the Boarding-Houses ! Arrest 
of the Supposed Perpetrator !" etc., etc. An artist 
who happened to be on the spot, made drawings 
of the boat, the club, and as far as possible the 
blood and the hair, for one of the illustrated papers 
— which, strangely enough, never appeared, though 
they would have answered, quite as authentically 
as usual, for an illustration of a rape on shipboard 
or a snagged steamboat on the Mississippi. 

Tilings were going on finely with the Long 
Branch murder, and it promised to blossom into 
proportions of great interest, when, at about two 
or three o'clock that afternoon, before the poor 
toper had been sent to Freehold, but after the re- 
ports had gone to the city and extended over the 
whole country — Sim Casey made his appearance. 
He did not seem much murdered, but in his usual 
health and spirits ; though perhaps, owing to the 
easily acquired ten dollars, there may have been 
even 'more spirits than usual about him. He said 
he had gone down to Deal the evening before, to visit 
an old aunt who had been suddenly taken sick, and 



112 THE LONG BRANCH MURDER. 

that he had "been obliged to remain all night and 
till nearly noon. Of course he did not know any- 
thing about the situation of his boat — about the 
club, or the blood, or the hair. 

Failing to discover anybody else missing (is that 
a Hibernicism?) the bottom suddenly fell out of the 
Long Branch murder ; and nobody seemed disposed 
to acknowledge, even the next day, that they had 
seen or known anything about it. Perhaps there 
was a dim suspicion creeping through many heads, 
that somebody had been vended at a low figure. 
Perhaps there are people who believe that the hair 
came from the barber's at Long Branch Village, the 
blood from the butcher's, and the club from a neigh- 
boring wood-pile. Perhaps there are people who 
believe that Captain Joe, Lance and the Colonel 
perpetrated that murder and have not yet been 
punished ! Who knows ? 




xir. 

EDITORIAL PHRENOLOGY AT MIDNIGHT. 

The Daily Hurryemup, (that "busted " very soon 
after) was in apparently prosperous existence, and 
two of the editors and proprietors, with myself a 
sub, were waiting one night in the dingy little sanc- 
tum for proofs, which the foreman seemed determined 
to send us very slowly if at all. Wilkinson, the 
head of heads — the majesty of majesties, whose 
word was law after the rest of us had had our say, 
was a tall man with a pleasant but very grave face, 
before whom a stranger would about as soon have 
thought of cracking a joke as in the presence of the 
Khan of Tartary before dinner. He w r as really, 
meanwhile, a very jovial and jolly fellow, to those 
who fairly knew him, with a keen relish for a practi- 
cal joke, and a closer insight into the tangled maze 
of politics than one man in ten thousand ever man- 
ages to attain. If he had another speciality, it was 
that of being the worst penman in the world, after 
Rufus Choate. 

Boone, the second in command, better known as 
" Captain Boone," was a thick- set man of fifty, gray 
haired, with a round and jovial face a little marked 
by adventurous exposure — a good writer and a 
capital story-teller, whose specialty on the Hurry- 
emup was to keep its commercial intelligence in 
order, and to write terrible stories about " Eats " 



114: EDITORIAL PHRENOLOGY AT MIDNIGHT. 

and other amusing quadrupeds. Poor Charley Ur- 
quhart, best of dramatic critics and laziest of men, 
who sometimes made a quartette of our trio, had 
finished his labors for the night and gone home, 
escaping much more than he knew, besides missing 
something. 

Bantering conversation had begun to lag, as mid- 
night approached on the evening in question, and 
we were all growing tired of waiting for proofs 
(that the printers were doing anything up stairs !) — 
when relief from ennui unexpectedly arrived. The 
door opened, without warning from without, and a 
very seedy -looking personage entered, with a dila- 
pidated bundle under his arm, and that general ap- 
pearance graphically described as indicating " a 
gentleman and a scholar — a judge of liquor, and 
one who has seen better days." But seedy as the 
new-comer looked, he was evidently keen — keen as 
a briar, and his sharp face showed that he knew 
several things not set down on any popular chart of 
human conduct. 

" Good evening, gentlemen ! Hope I am not in- 
truding on any privacy !" was the salutation of this 
strange customer; and then, without waiting for 
any reply, he went on at race-horse speed. " I am 
a phrenologist, gentlemen — a professor of the true 
art — none of your humbugs. Can beat Fowler and 
give him fifty points. Dig out the hidden bumps 
on any of your heads, quicker than a good dog can 
nose out a wood-chuck, or a politician get on the 
track of a fat office. Tell you what you can do, and 
what it is no use of your trying ! Great science 
— phrenology ! Any of you gentlemen like to have 
me go over his bumps and earn enough to get me 
supper and a bed V 

"How much do you charge for a thorough ex- 
amination?" asked Wilkinson of the original, who 



EDITORIAL PHRENOLOGY AT MIDNIGHT. 115 

had squatted himself uninvited in one of the vacant 
office-chairs, with the bundle on his lap, and was 
now drumming on both the arms of the chair with 
his unoccupied ringers. 

w A quarter — only a quarter ! Give you a splen- 
did head for a quarter, and a re-mark-a-ble head for 
half a dollar, including chart," was the reply. 

"Eh, what? Give a better character for a high 
price than a low one, do you ?" asked the Captain. 

" Certain-Z//," said the stranger. " Publish any 
paid puffs in the Hurry 'emujj? — 1 believe that is the 
name of your paper." 

" Yes, that is the name," answered Wilkinson. 
" We do publish a few puffs. Why ?" 

" Give just as good a one for fifty cents as you do 
for fifty dollars ? eh ?" was the next interrogation. 

" Not quite" said Captain Boone, laughing over 
the drollery of the illustration. " Suppose we take 
twenty five cents worth apiece — eh, Wilkinson ?" 

"Just as you say," answered Wilkinson. " Of 
course you will take a chance, M ?" 

"I'll bet he will!" said Boone. "Nobody ever 
heard of his backing out when he could talk about 
himself, or get talked about, for only a quarter !" 

" You are the oldest, Captain — take your first 
chance !" said Wilkinson, as the itinerant phrenolo- 
gist shoved back his cutFs and made a great flou- 
rish with his hands preparatory to commencement. 
The Captain took his seat in the big chair, which was 
to be the operating one ; and the moment he had 
done so, when he thought that neither of us saw the 
movement, Wilkinson slipped behind, wrote a mo- 
ment rapidly on a card and handed it to the opera- 
tor, who, being behind the Captain, could also re- 
ceive it without being noticed b}' the victim. There 
was such a thing as silver coin in the world in those 
days, (improbable as such an assertion may now 



116 EDITORIAL PHRENOLOGY AT MIDNIGHT. 

seem to be,) and Wilkinson slipped a bright half- 
dollar into the dingy hand of the itinerant, with the 
card. That card contained — it is no matter how or 
when I discovered the fact — the following words : 
" Old sea-captain — tells infernal lies — thinks he can 
write — give him fits I" I could see that the quick 
eye of the phrenologist caught the words, and that 
he smiled. I could also see that he dropped the 
half-dollar into his pocket as if he had taken bribes 
before. He commenced operations on the Captain's 
head, tumbling his iron-gray hair about as if he had 
been about to shampoo him, while Wilkinson lit an- 
other of his everlasting segars and cocked up his 
feet on one of the desks. 

"Fine head — remarkable head!" said the opera- 
tor. " Capitally balanced. Intellectual organs pre- 
dominate, of course, as they ought. Percepts fine 
— can see as far into a mill-stone as the next man. 
Animal organs only large enough "to make a good 
family man. Destructiveness small — Combative- 
ness middle size — Firmness much larger than usual. 
A fine head — a very fine head !" 

I could see the Captain's face, in spite of the tum- 
ble of hair over it. It looked pleased and jubilant. 
Who of us is there that does not like flattery, even 
from a fool or a known impostor? Wilkinson's face 
did not look so well pleased. He probably had a 
momentary impression that he had lost his surrep- 
titious half-dollar. Had he ? We shall see ! 

" Inhabitativeness very small," the operator went 
on. " You could not possibly stay long in one 
place — must have been a great traveller, sir !" 

" By George, he does know something about a 
head !" the flattered Captain could not avoid ex- 
claiming. If he had a special point of pride greater 
than all others, it was in remembering how many 



EDITORIAL PHRENOLOGY AT MIDNIGHT. 117 

thousands of miles of the earth's surface he had tra- 
velled over, by sea and land. 

a Yes, he is evidently pretty well up !" said Wil- 
kinson, drily, and at last perceiving that his leaven 
was beginning to work. 

" But stop — good heavens I" said the phrenologist, 
pausing with a well-simulated appearance of horror. 
" What is this ? I really hate to go on !" 

" Why, what is the matter V asked Captain 
Boone, suddenly brought down from his high-horse 
of self-gratulation. " Go on — what the d — 1 are you 
stopping for V 

" Well," said the intinerant, " I will go on if you 
wish, but I hope that you will not be offended at 
what I say. My art — the great art of phrenology — 
is always true, and I cannot falsify what it teaches." 
' Wilkinson was indulging in a quiet chuckle, which 
not only shook him but made the desk tremble ; but 
he uttered no sound that the victim could hear. 
" Stop your d — lish nonsense and go on !" said the 
latter, once more, and the examination proceeded. 

"I am sorry to say, sir," proceeded the wretch, 
" that Conscientiousness is totally wanting, and so is 
Continuity ; and Marvellousness is very small — very 
small indeed. Without Continuity you can never 
write so that anybody will care to read what you 
have written ." 

"Ha! ha!" chuckled Wilkinson, this time loud 
enough to hear, but disguising the explosion under 
a feeble attempt at a cough. 

" It will be, in short, trash — dreadful trash!" 

went on the phrenologist. 

" You scoundrel !" and the Captain made demon- 
strations of rising to punch the head of the man of 
science ; but he was interrupted, and his purpose, 
if he had one, spoiled, by a clear, loud, ringing 
laugh from Wilkinson, who made no further attempt 



118 EDITORIAL PHRENOLOGY AT MIDNIGHT. 

at disguise, but lay back in his chair and laughed 
until he was nearly black in the face. 

"Ha! ha! ha f ha-h ! ha-a-h!" 

" Anything more?" asked the Captain, retaining 
his seat, but in that tone which says, louder than 
the words could convey it: "You cursed humbug 
and scoundrel ! I should like to break your head if 
you were onlv worth the trouble !" 

" Only a little more," said the operator. " Hav- 
ing Marvel lousness so very small and lacking Con- 
scientiousness altogether, you don't believe what 
any body tells you, nor what you say yourself; and 
if you should attempt to describe any of the things 
you had seen in your travels, you would — " 

" Yes, that is what we want ! out with it !" broke 
in "Wilkinson, between two bursts of laughter. 

" Yes, let us have the whole of it !" said Boone, 
with the air of a man who should have said : " It 
has rained pitchforks ; now let the plough-shares 
come as soon as you like !" 

"You would — that is — exaggerate." 

"You mean, lie, I suppose !" queried the Captain. 

"Yes, that is probably the better word," said the 
manipulator, and at about the same time the Cap- 
tain " concluded his sitting" and made for the slan- 
derer, who in turn made for the door. But the 
laugh of Wilkinson was too much for him, and be- 
fore he could get ready to " execute judgment " on 
the wretch, he was obliged to join in the laughter, 
though with not the best grace in the world. 

" A nice head !" said Wilkinson, when the explo- 
sion was over. " He does know something about 
heads, doesn't he V 

'' Yes," answered the Captain, drily. " But let 
me see — yes, it is your turn now." 

" I believe so," said Wilkinson, taking the chair in 
his turn. lie was all right — the manipulator had 



EDITORIAL PHRENOLOGY AT MIDNIGHT. 119 

received no hint as to 7n?n, and the tables could not 
possibly be turned ! Perhaps if he could have heard 
the few words that I found time to say close in the 
ear of the operator, and the clink of the two half- 
dollars that fell into his pocket, conjoined with a 
punch in the Captain's side, he might have been a 
little less confident! The whispered words were 
about as pregnant as the card had been ; " Death 
after all the women — makes love to all the lady 
contributors — close-fisted old hunks — thinks he is 
smart and everybody pulls the wool over his eyes 
—go it !" 

He did " go it " with a vengeance ! 

"This is a very fine head," began the operator. 
(It was probably his stereotype commencement, as 
flattery is the first weapon of nearly all humbugs.) 
" You are a tall man, and, as is becoming, you have 
a long head.'' 

" So has a donkey !" put in the Captain, paren- 
thetically. He had assumed the chair just vacated 
by Wilkinson, his shorter legs not quite so far on 
the desk as his partner's had been, and sealing his 
recovered equanimity with a sandwich and a glass 
of old cider brought in by Tom from Mataran's. 
"Wilkinson evidently heard the flattering remark, 
to judge by the sudden draw of his face ; but he said 
nothing. 

" As is not unusual with long heads," went on 
the operator, " the accumulative organs are well de- 
veloped. Acquisitiveness is very large — seven plus — 
and as a consequence you hold your own. I should 
not like to say that you hold anything of other 
people's." 

" Oh, you had better !" put in the subject, in a 
species uf subterranean growl. 

" But I hope there is no offence in my saying 
that a dollar sometimes looks, to your eyes, about 



120 EDITOKIAL PHKENOLOGY AT MIDNIGHT. 

the size of a carriage-wheel, and that — hem — that 
yon don't need any blacksmith's vice to help you 
hold fast of it!" 

" Bah !" said the victim — the only comment he 
deigned. (He was really a liberal man, and pro- 
bably thought as much of his reputation in that di- 
rection, as in almost any other — almost!) 

" But what have we here ?" pursued the profes- 
sional tormentor. " I find Combativeness very large, 
leading you to oppose nearly everybody in nearly 
everything." (Wilkinson never opposed any one, 
openly, when he could possibly avoid it.) " Then 
your percepts are low, and Marvellousness very 
large." (Wilkinson was as near to a skeptic in most 
regards as any man I have ever known, and prided 
himself on that quality.) " Consequently, though 
you may think yourself very keen, Self-esteem being 
six and a half, if you should attempt many transac- 
tions with people of the world, there would not be 
much difficulty in pulling the wool — " 

" Down over his eyes!" the Captain concluded 
the sentence. " I say, Wilkinson, he does know 
something about a head, doesn't he? Always told 
you, you know, that you are nothing but a child, in 
management" 

Wilkinson did not reply a word. He had caught 
a glimpse by this time, I think, of the fact that he 
had been sold by one or the other of us, and his 
face was a study. No martyr on the rack or at the 
stake ever drew his face into queerer contortions, 
and yet no face ever expressed a more grim deter- 
mination to go through with whatever might be 
coming. The examination went on. I saw the 
manipulator run his hand over the animal organs at 
the back of the head. Then, with a well-assumed 
expression of surprise, lie stopped suddenly and 
withdrew his fingers. The Captain fetched a ma- 



EDITORIAL PHRENOLOGY AT MIDNIGHT. 121 

licious nod and wink 'at me from his position behind 
the victim. The catastrophe was coming. Perfect 
silence for a moment, while the phrenologist stood 
with his finders in the air as if he had burned them 
and was holding them up to cool. 

" Well — what is the matter ? Why in thunder 
don't you go on and get through?" broke out Wil- 
kinson at length, half turning his head, when he 
found that the examination did not continue. 

U I think — that is — I think I have gone far 
enough," said the manipulator, with a well-managed 
confusion. " There are some organs there that, 
that—" 

"Yes, I think he had probably better stop," 
chuckled Captain Boone. " There are some secrets, 
you know, Wilkinson, that had better — " 

" Go to the devil!" snarled the victim. " Look 
here, fellow !" to the operator, " if you don't go on 
and finish with my head, without any more outside 
comments, I'll finish yours with that big ruler yon- 
der !" Wilkinson did not mean to have it said that 
he dared not have his whole head examined by any 
phrenologist living! 

So adjured, the manipulator returned to his task. 

" Well," he said, " you insist upon it, and I sup- 
pose I must earn my quarter. But really this is the 
most extraordinary thing I ever knew in my life. I 
hope you don't have any women coming around 
here !" (The Hurryemup office was the resort of 
half the literary women in town, and Wilkinson al- 
ways the editor who received them.) " If so, I 
should advise their husbands always to come with 
them !" 

i4 You would — would you ?" gasped Wilkinson, 
on the very verge of being furious 

" Ho ! ho ! hoi ho ! ho ! ho-o-o-h-oh !" roared the 
Captain, with a long ringing termination to the last 

6 



122 EDITORIAL PHRENOLOGY AT MIDNIGHT. 

chuckle that showed exquisite enjoyment, and one 
that utterly defies spelling. He was eternally ban- 
tering Wilkinson about the number of women with 
whom he was closeted in his private room, and the 
latter always set up for St. Anthony, even to his 
most intimate friends. 

" With Continuity only two and the most extra- 
ordinary bump of Amati vertess I ever felt, I should 
think that you would make love to every woman 
you saw, old or young, and that you would never 
stick to any one for more than two hours. An ex- 
traordinary head for love-making, sir, but a danger- 
ous one, I should say ! Your wife had better look 
out for the servant-girls ! That is all, sir !" 

" That is all, is it ?" said Wilkinson, springing 
from his chair with a " Heugh !" of relief like that 
which expresses the throwing off of some terrible 
incubus. "That is all, is it ? Well, I should say it 
was quite enough ! Get out of here, you scoundrel, 
or I'll — " 

" Oh, no, you won't ; Wilkinson !" said the Captain, 
just concluding another of those stentorian bursts 
of laughter that only solid men can manage. " You 
only gave the fellow fifty cents to ruin my charac- 
ter for life, and he had a dollar to destroy yours." 

" Ha ! ha ! ha ! ho ! ho ! ho !" roared both the 
partners in concert at this development, while I be- 
lieve I joined them, and I am very sure that the itin- 
erant phrenologist looked as proud as if he had won 
the great success of his life. So he had — made two 
dollars and twenty-five cents in less than an hour, 
at midnight — enough to buy him not only supper 
and lodging, but to keep him on a very respectable 
" drunk " for at least halt' a week, — besides the priv- 
ilege of handling familiarly three of the most extra- 
ordinary heads of the century ! 

Modesty forbids me to mention all the develope- 



EDITORIAL PHRENOLOGY AT MIDNIGHT. 123 

ments which came out when the two previous vic- 
tims set the tormenter at my head. I have a dim 
recollection that he found a hole where Veneration 
should have been — that he declared himself unable 
to measure Alimentiveness, (i. e., gluttony) — found 
Firmness (i, e., stubbornness) eleven, and Self-esteem 
fourteen (seven and a half being the top of the scale) 
— that he found Language prominent enough to 
make me a gabbler, and Caution large enough to 
make me a coward — and that he discovered such a 
sad deficiency in Amativeness and all the corres- 
ponding organs, that I resolved never to speak to a 
woman from that time forward. I think I did not 
enjoy that examination quLe as much as I had done 
the two preceding ; but Wilkinson and Captain 
Boone had laughter enough over it to salve their 
own wounds, and what more was wanted ? . 

I wonder if either of the two remembers, as well 
as myself, that jolliest illustration phrenology ever 
had in this city — over three editorial craniums at 
midnight, in the dingy sanctum of the now long de- 
funct Dally ITurryemup ! 




XIII. 

MY LAST SUNDAY ON SKATES. 

Some twenty or twenty-five years have elapsed 
since 1 of this writing tempted the slippery skate. 
The world has grown very much older in that 
quarter of a century ; and I have grown older with 
it, in spite of all the " Elixir of Youth " I have been 
able to extract from a good appetite and a laughing 
disposition. I very well remember the last essay, 
and the memory alone would be quiet sufficient to 
drive off temptation when it appeared in the shape 
of the double serpent of the strap, runner and 
buckle. 

Sundry essays made at an earlier period had not 
developed immense capabilities for keeping the 
perpendicular and emulating the speed of the wind, 
when mounted on the grooved rails which accom- 
pany the rolling-stock instead of being run over by 
it ; and obtaining eventual possession of a better 
and bigger pair of skates, I did incontinently prac- 
tise all the art and mystery of the profession, sur- 
reptitiously, during two or three weeks of one hard 
winter, on a little patch of ice about four feet by six, 
surrounded by clumps of alders, in a swamp so 
sheltered that no eyes but those of the wondering 
birds and rabbits would be likely to take note of 
any misfortune. There I went through the innu- 
merable phases of the slip, the slide, the fall, the 



MY LAST SUNDAY ON SKATES. 125 

tumble, the bump, the crash which showed stars, 
the forward fall which abraded the nose and dila- 
pidated the knees of the trowsers, and all the other 
ills to which awkward beginners on skates are imme- 
diately subject. 

At the end of this period, having advanced as 
far in the art and mystery of skating as the Prince 
Regent of England had in fiddling, when he got so 
that he " couldn't fiddle at all " — I determined upon 
an essay upon a broader field. This, in the neigh- 
borhood, could only be secured upon the mill-pond ; 
and during all the week days it was occupied by 
relays of boys who seemed to have grown into the 
use of skates as naturally as they had come into 
their ragged trowsers, and without a particle of 
sympathy for the slides and tumbles of less versatile 
humanity. To make a first essay on the broad field 
before them, would never do, and Sunday was the 
only holiday of the ice-pond. (Let it be remember- 
ed that a quarter of a century ago Sunday was less 
of a day of recreation than at present, and that in 
Puritan neighborhoods it was scarcely used at all 
for the amusements then held to be altogether secu- 
lar.) On that day the troublesome demons of the 
skate w r ould all be kept at home or packed off to 
Sunday-school and meeting, and I should be as 
much alone and as independent as Pobinson Crusoe 
on his desert island before he had found ever a 
Man-Friday. 

Well, to that spot, immediately after the hastily- 
swallowed Sunday dinner, I wended, skates under 
my arm and expectation up to several degrees be- 
yond the moral Fahrenheit. Clear, cool and delic- 
ious was the afternoon, and calm, placid and shi- 
ning lay the surface of the pond, on which such 
alluring mathematical figures were before long to 
be described. The old mill, with its planks extend- 



126 MY LAST SUNDAY ON SKATES. 

ing out over the ice, lay lonely and deserted, and 
the logs tbat formed a border around it were 
among the most harmless of spectators. Xot a 
human being in sight, and not even one of the win- 
ter flights of crows sailing overhead to make the 
bashful debutant nervous. 

Down on the bank at the edge of the pond I 
knelt, and strapped on those skates as skates had 
never been strapped on before. Up I rose, and 
proceeded to make the first grand "strike out" of 
the occasion. Horror ! — the first foot had scarcely 
gone twelve inches on its mission, when I caught 
sight of a human face and figure ! Poets and 
philosophers may rave as they will about "the hu- 
man face divine," but there are times when 
the human face is, to the man who sees it when he 
has no propensity to see it, very nearly infernal ! 
Two tigers and a wild cat could not have been so 
unwelcome at that juncture, as anything wearing a 
hat and pantaloons, not to mention the possessor of 
a bonnet in fee simple. But there was a face, and 
casting a horrified glance towards it, not quite 
enough attention was paid to the ice ahead and the 
retention of the perpendicular, and down somebody 
came with a crash that made the/>ld alder woods 
ring for a quarter of a mile. 

k4 Capital ! go it ! try it again !" chuckled a voice, 
and arising with all the physical agility which was 
then a prominent feature in my character, as 
modesty now is, — I discovered Jake Jerolamon, 
proprietor of the mill, seated on the end of the 
planks overhanging the pond, half a white-pine 
board in one hand and a quarter-of-a poundlump of 
chalk in the other. 

" What in thunder are you doing there?" I ejac- 
ulated, skating clumsily towards him, though with- 



MY LAST SUNDAY ON SKATES. 127 

out any " attraction " except a u passional " one not 
recognized by the free-lovers. 

u Doing here? why sitting here !" answered Jake, 
in the coolest and most provoking of tones possible. 
He was well-known over the entire section as one 
of the most merciless of wags and practical-jokers, 
and no other ten men could have inspired as much 
dread under the circumstances. 

" Jake Jerolamon, you had better go home, where 
you belong !" was the ungracious reply. " But 
what are you going to do with that board and 
chalk ?" 

" Keep an account of the number of times you 
fall !" was the assuring answer. "See, there's one 
of them down already ! If I can't get 'era all on 
the two sides of the board, w T hy I'll get a ladder 
and fill up the side of the mill !" 

" You will, eh ?" said I, raging impotently. 

" Yes," said Jerolamon, in the same drawling and 
bantering tone. " I shall stay here for a while to 
keep 'count for you, and then be ready to pull you 
out when you fall in." 

" The d 1 you will !" said I, irreverently. " ISTow 

look here, Jake Jerolamon — " 

" Oh, I know what you* are going to say," inter- 
rupted Jake. " You dare not skate before anybody, 
and so you are going to pull off your skates and go 
home, on purpose to disappoint me." 

Cruel Jake ! — if he had sounded the whole depth 
of human nature he could not have hit upon a more 
certain means to induce me to remain and be 
laughed at and mangled. 

* " You think so, do you !" said I, viciously, and 
determined not to be driven off. "That is just 
where you are wrong. I am going to skate here all 
the afternoon." 

" Oh, then I shall go and get another board," 



128 MY LAST SUNDAY ON SKATES. 

said Jake, rising. "Here, girls you may as well 
come out, for the thing is all settled." 

And out of the little office of the mill popped 
Susan and Kate Jerolamon, Jake's daughters, rosy, 
saucy and laughing, and a city cousin with them, 
whom I had been trying to engage in a flirtation 
any time within the la^t month! By what witch- 
craft Jake had known that I was going to skate on 
the mill-pond, and brought them there, there was 
no means of knowing; but there was a pretty situa- 
tion for a bashful man and a bad skater — no, no 
skater at all ! 

Of course I should have run away if I could, but 
I could not. There was just enough contrariness ot 
disposition to prevent that. Then the girls insis- 
ted that I should skate, and could skate, they knew 
I could! — and whether they were ridiculing me or 
net was of no manner of consequence. So while old 
Jake used his chalk and his board, and the three 
girls sat ranged upon the plank like so many light- 
er-colored crows on a fence — 1 skated. 

There are moments in every man's life, I fancy, 
so full of unutterable horror that the curtain should 
be drawn between them and the eye of common 
humanity ; and my special horror is that two hours 
of skating under quadruple supervision. Afraid to 
go off and ashamed to go on — applauded alike when 
a moderate success had been achieved and when a 
bad fall had been accomplished — coming down about 
twice in a minute during one hundred and twenty 
revolutions of that period — head aching and temples 
throbbing, and with a worse pain at the heart than 
in any other portion of the animal economy — . 
bruised to a pumice and stiffened till neither arms 
nor legs could be lifted without violent effort — all 
my falls relentlessly set down on the white pine 
board by Jake Jerolamon's ruthless lingers, and all 



MY LAST SUNDAY ON SKATES. 129 

timed by the merry laughter of three mischievous 
girls who had never learned the name, much less 
the quality of mercy, — I submit that I had on that 
particular afternoon quite skating enough to last for 
a quarter of a century ! 

So far as i can remember at this distance of time, 
it was rather a relief when the catastrophe was 
reached by my skating over the brook or channel 
of the. pond, (which was never thoroughly frozen,) 
falling in that opportune place, and going in up to 
the arm-pits, to be dragged out by old Jake with a 
pole and sent home shivering, under an assurance 
from Jerolamon that he would save the board, and 
a peal of laughter from the girls that capped the 
climax of mortification. 

That is my last skating-adventure, so far, in spite 
of all the temptations of Central Park ponds and 
even all the added attractions of Brooklyn and Jer- 
sey City. Have I not had good cause to be shy ? — 
answer, athletic youths in the short coats and skat- 
ing-caps, and sprightly young ladies avec les jolies 
jambes, who have almost forgotten dancing for the 
healthier out-door exercise ? 



XIV. 

THE GREAT SHORTFORT BURGLARY. 

It was about the time that the debatable ground 
between the City of New- York and the country 
forty or fifty miles distant, began to be hunted over 
by the burglars, and when short paragraphs on the 
subject had assumed some frequency in the country 
papers, that I was for the time a resident of Short- 
port, a maritime village lying not quite a hundred 
miles from the great city, and where great sensa- 
tions were got up on a small capital, with as much 
facility as I have ever seen displayed in any other 
operation of society. It had innumerable great 
events while honored with my residence, but I sus- 
pect that none of them made so abiding an impres- 
sion as the burglary. 

It came about in this wise : 

Shortport was not only one of the great molluscu- 
lar depots, from which the great city drew a large 
proportion of the delicious bivalves consumed by 
the million in its saloons and restaurants, but the 
entrepot of a steamboat line by which there was a 
daily communication with the modern Babylon. It 
was consequently known to be easily accessible to 
any dangerous characters who might be disposed to 
proritable rustication ; and only a few weeks before 
the particular period of which I write, Middleport, 



THE GEE AT SHORT PORT BHRGLAKY. 131 

a town at a few miles distance, had been visited 
during the night by a couple of real burglars, armed 
with all the portable tools of the fraternity, and 
almost robbed. 

I say almost — for it happened in that particular case 
that one of the respectable youthful citizens of that 
flourishing community, returning home late from what 
is commonly called a " spark," came upon the in- 
dustrious personages who were prying open a door 
or two ; and they went out of town, one of them in 
the constable's cart, and the other with lead enough 
in him to keep him from swimming to advantage. 

Of course burglars were spoken for, then, for 
every village in the county; and it was rumored 
that all the horse-pistols which had been lying idle 
since the time when our sea-coast was threatened by 
Cockburn in the last war, were cleaned up and load- 
ed, and a few cheap revolvers added to them. Of 
course all that large class of the female community, 
who had been for years " looking for the boots under 
the bed " without being able to rind them, took up 
the cry ; and innumerable cups of tea and some 
snuff fell a sacrifice to the "strong necessity of " 
discussing the prevailing topic. But for a few 
weeks no burglars appeared any where in the sec- 
tion. 

At length, one very dark night in early Novem- 
ber, Captain Ho well,* who had happened to be de- 
tained over late at his. coasting schooner on the Bay, 
was coming up Main street, about half-past twelve, 
and was startled by a light in front of one of the 
fancy stores on the street. He stopped — there they 
were, sure ! Fortunately the Captain had on india- 
rubber boots, the waterman's indispensable compa- 
nions, and was enabled to approach without making 
a great deal of noise. He was bound to have them, 
single-handed and unarmed though he might be, 



132 THE GREAT SHORTPORT BURGLARY. 

against no one knew how many desperate fellows, 
and he crept up noiselessly. 

Nearer and nearer, and there they were, sure 
enough. Three of them, and the tallest a man of 
not less than six feet and a half, engaged at that 
very moment in fumbling close by the door. One 
of the two others, both shorter men, was holding a 
dark lantern that threw a dim and doubtful ray on 
all their faces, and the Captain saw that they were 
an ill-looking set of fellows indeed. Three, and one 
of them of such a size — the prospect of contending 
with them single-handed was a bad one, and the 
Captain decided that there was no use in risking his 
life so rashly. He would give them a wide berth; 
as they say at sea, but go near enough to see their 
faces plainly, so that the constable might know bet- 
ter how to pursue them the next day. And so he 
went up closer. 

" Hark !" the Captain's foot struck an old piece of 
tin or iron, and quick as thought the slide of the 
dark lantern was shut and all was darkness. He 
went on up the path, then, and the burglars were 
not in it. They had of course been alarmed, and 
decamped, probably for the night. So the Captain 
went h mie and to bed ; but he had slept better in 
the Gulf Stream, with his little hooker laid-to in a 
storm, than that night, albeit it was la!e. 

The next morning was one o£ excitement in Short- 
port. Of course Captain Howell considered it his 
duty to give warning of the probable fact that bur- 
glars were " bobbin' around," and he did so. Then 
it became apparent that they had been heard that 
night at more places than one. At Wilson's at about 
half-past eleven, there had been a noise at the front 
gate ; at Smith's the door was shaken two or three 
times, Mrs. Smith thought then, about midnight; at 
Jones', men were heard walking around the house 



THE GREAT SHORTPORT BURGLARY. 133 

all night, and Mrs. Jones " hadn't slept a wink, but 
she'd no thought of their being burglars, or she 
wouldn't have been abed at all, that she wouldn't !" 
At Porter's one of the shutters of the shop was found 
open in the morning ; and around pretty much every 
house in the centre of the town there were found 
plenty of footmarks. 

Truly it was a mercy that in all these attempts the 
fellows had not succeeded in making an entrance 
anywhere. But unquestionably they had thought 
it unsafe after being seen by Howell, to make any 
further attempts that night, and were holding back 
for the next. 

The next night — aye! there was the rub. The 
next night was, evidently, to witness a general de- 
scent by a body of burglars, armed with skeleton 
keys, jimmies, chisels, priers, &c, on devoted Short- 
port ; and the consternation was general. The town 
had no regularly organized police, and only occa^ 
sionally indulged in a body of that description as 
amateurs, when there was a row to be quelled or 
made. But it was judged best to have one for this 
occasion ; so half a dozen were promptly organized 
as a central force, and posted at nine o'clock in Wig- 
gins' warehouse, while a dozen others were to act as 
patrols in different parts of the town. The principal 
arms of the central body were a box of cigars, two 
pitch-forks, one hand-saw, one horse-pistol, and a pile 
of bricks at the door. The patrols were variously 
accoutred with canes, two pistols, one table-knife, 
(large size) heavy soled boots, and fists of great 
power; so that the burglars, if discovered, were 
likely to suffer badly. 

But while this was going on in the public way, 
privately there was a like preparation. A., who 1 
was notoriously nervous and kept batchelor's hall, 
made arrangements for letting things rip and keep- 



134: THE GREAT SHOETPORT BURGLARY. 

ins: out of harm's way, by removing his bed into a 
side closet, and taking everything in with him, ex- 
cept the stove, which would not go through the 
door. 

B. was a man of considerable wealth, and did not 
like to trust outside watching; and at the same time 
he couldn't possibly convey all his valuables into 
his bed room. So he had a camp-bed fixed up in 
the parlor, and arranged himself to lie awake all 
night, looking at the gilt clock on the mantel, and 
lis-tening for a scratch at the key-hole. Of course 
he went to sleep in half an hour, and the seven 
thunders would not have woken him. 

Mrs. C. had always been great on tins. Tin pans, 
large, small, very small, cups, dishes and platters, 
graced her kitchen shelves ; and no one had ever 
been able to see what she wanted of so many, for 
her small family. But now the use came out. She 
was enabled to pile a tin pyramid exactly to the 
top of her only outside door, so that if the burglars 
did come in they would come with a smash, and 
probably be frightened out of doing any damage. 

Mrs. D. provided herself, (her husband was away) 
early in the evening, with the wood-pile axe, to take 
to bed with her. Unfortunately on going to bed she 
forgot it down stairs and lay awake all night wish- 
ing that she dare go down to get it. 

E. went away on a voyage during the afternoon. 
His wife cried, and prophesied that they would all 
be robbed and murdered before he came back ; but 
he recommended going to bed early, and putting 
her head under the bed-clothes, so that if any dam- 
age was done she wouldn't hear it. She thought 
him very unfeeling, but he went away apparently 
very little alarmed, to general wonder. 

And so on to the end of the chapter. Never was 
village so on the qui vive as Shortport. Never had 



THE GREAT SH0RTP0RT BURGLARY. 135 

burglars such a look for a reception, as at that par- 
ticular place and on that occasion. But, could it be 
believed? the burglars didn't come. Not a stir in 
the streets, not an attempt at a door or a window. 
Could they have heard of the preparations ? — 
Strange ! 

Yes, very strange ; but not quite so much so when 
it accidentally leaked out on the morning after, that 
the burglars seen by Captain Howell were three very 
good fellows belonging to the village, and E., one of 
them, with an old lantern from one of the staoles, 
posting political handbills prior to election. They 
had heard the Captain coming, concluded to " sell " 
him by blowing out the light, dodged home, and 
kept their own counsel long enough to scare Short- 
port into fits. 

My own impression is that afterwards, any time 
during the next six months, burglars might really 
have done a good business in the village, for half a 
dozen persons might have been seen prying open all 
the shutters in town, and would only have been sus- 
pected of playing another practical joke. And if 
any one risked using the word " burglary," any- 
where within the conlines of Shortport, during the 
same period, it was necessary to do so when the door 
was open and there was a clear field for escaping 
the broom-hanclles, smoothing-irons and other mis- 
siles that were very likely to follow the imperti- 
nence. 



XV. 

EXTRA DRUMMING AT THE OLD BROAD- 
WAY. 

I do not remember what they were playing at 
the Broadway Theatre on a night which recalls 
itself to uiy memory ; but it is a matter of not, the 
least consequence. I know that the season was that 
in which the Ronzani ballet-troupe made their first 
appearance in this country, and when Louise La- 
moureux was for the time the star of the ballet. 

Strolling into the house one evening, and going 
forward to one of the front benches of the parquette, 
I stumbled upon my (and everybody's) old friend, 
Dr. Melton McPenzie, then just closing a connec- 
tion with one of the New York journals, and on the 
point of going to Philadelphia to assume the still 
more influential position' which he has held from 
that time to the present. 

Dr. Mac was in about as jolly and satisfactory a 
humor as usual, and we chatted, of course, while 
the curtain was down after the first act, of news- 
papers, theatrical affairs and everything else imagi- 
nable. Some of the members of the orchestra were 
in their seats, though part of tlfem, and among the 
lest old John Cooke, who wielded the baton, had 
gone out for a sandwich or something less solid. 



EXTRA DRUMMING AT THE OLD BROADWAY. 137 

Suddenly I saw the Doctor's face light up with a 
recognition, and he said, looking towards the or- 
chestra: 

" Ah, there is a man I once knew, though I have 
not met him for a long time. I must speak to him 
a few moments. Come over and see him — you will 
find him worth knowing." 

We left our seats and crossed to the right of the 
orchestra railing, within which sat the man he had 
noticed. He had the big bass-drum beside him and 
a smaller one and two kettle drums in the immedi- 
ate neighborhood, and was, in fact, Robinson, the 
drummer of the orchestra. The Doctor and the 
musician greeted each other as old acquaintances, 
and the former introduced me. I noticed that 
Robinson seemed a bit of an original, and decided- 
ly odd, with a strong propensity for keeping a 
straight face under circumstances in which any one 
else would have laughed. McPenzie and he had 
been old acquaintances in the old country, and had 
not previously met for years ; so during the long 
entr* acte of a show-piece with much set machinery, 
they had many things to chat about, the Doctor and 
myself leaning over the railing. 

With the usual propensity of very busy people 
for doing what I had no business to do, I leaned 
over and hit the big bass-drum a few slight thumps 
with my fingers, making the burly instrument growl 
a few notes away down in its intestines. 

"Hush! sh!" said the Doctor. " Not quite so 
loud, please. Old Cooke may hear you, and then — " 

"Well, let him hear!" said Robinson. " lie 
won't hurt anything ! Tm drummer here, not 
Cooke." 

" By the way," said the Doctor, " you ought by 
this time to have been something more than a 
drummer, Robinson." 



138 EXTRA. DRUMMING AT THE OLD BROADWAY. 

"Heigho! I suppose so!" was the answer, in a 
tone so doubtful that I did not know if he cared 
whether he wielded a baton or a drumstick. 

" If it is not quite so high a walk of music as 
playing some of the other instruments, drumming 
is at least easier than most of the others, I suppose," 
I said. 

" Oh }^es," answered Robinson — " easy enough ; in 
fact, almost too easy. There is not a drummer in 
any orchestra in the world, who would not rather 
play more of the time than he is called to do by the 
score." 

" Humph !" said the Doctor. " They ought to 
w r rite a few pieces especially for the drummer — a 
few good long pieces that would require him to 
beat all the time." 

" Or," I said, " perhaps it would answer the pur- 
pose if the drummer should beat all the way through 
a piece already written. I suppose that would kick 
up a little confusion, wouldn't it ?" 

" A little" said Eobinson, drily. 

"Eh?" broke in the Doctor, his eye flashing 
with a sudden droll idea — " by George, I never 
thought of that before ! "Why not, Eobinson ?" 

"What?" asked Robinson — "beat through the 
whole of some composition, without any regard to 
the score ?" 

"Yes," said the Doctor. " Why not?" 

" Here ?" asked Robinson, 

"Yes, here and now !" answered the Doctor, who 
had just got fairly on the trail of a gigantic mischief. 
" What do you play next?" 

Robinson looked at the books, and I think that 
the next piece to be played was something of Moz- 
art's, of considerable length. At all events it was 
one of the pet compositions of one of the learned 



EXTRA DRUMMING AT THE OLD BROADWAY. 139 

German composers, full of delicate passages and 
fine effects in musical light and shade. 

"Yes," said the Doctor — " that will do capitally. 
When old Cooke comes in, jnst go through that 
whole piece like a house a-fire. Don't stop for any- 
body or anything !" 

" Humph !" said Robinson, " I suppose you know 
that such a spree would cost me my place in the or- 
chestra ; if it did not prevent my ever getting 
another." 

" Well," said the Doctor, " all I can say is, go 

ahead with it. Don't flinch or falter, and put in 

the licks as if you were drumming for a big army 

on the march. You know me, Robinson, don't you ?" 

" I do," said Robinson, " thoroughly." 

" And you believe that what I promise I will do ?" 

" Yes," said Robinson, u without a doubt." 

" Then," said the Doctor, u I promise you that 

if this little job of drumming on your own hook 

costs you your place, you shall have a better one 

within twenty-four hours. And here," drawing out 

a bill and handing it out to Robinson — " here is an 

X to pay you for your trouble. Dare you go it ?" 

" I dare do any thing," said Robinson, " and I 

think that I could manage to keep a straight face 

through the operation. I will — yes, I will do it ; 

and remember your promise if it gets me into a 

scrape ! Get back among the audience where I 

cannot see you, or you may make me laugh. Here 

comes Cooke — now for one satisfactory drum, if I 

never have another !" 

Cooke came in with the balance of his orchestra, 
at the moment, and the curtain being almost ready 
to rise after the long entf acte, the conductor took 
his fiddle and bow. Doctor McPenzie and myself 
went back a few seats, where we could see not 
only the orchestra but most of the audience, and 



140 EXTRA DRUMMING AT THE OLD BROADWAY. 

where we could be at the same time out of the way 
of Robinson. With excellent judgment, that worthy 
did not begin too soon. Cooke waved his fiddle- 
bow and the interlude commenced in a passage of 
rare .beauty and delicacy. Gradually this swelled 
higher and the chorus came in ; and after a time 
there were two or three clashes for the cymbals, fol- 
lowed by a dozen taps for the drum. Here the new 
model musician began. [Robinson gave the taps of 
the drum correctly but decidedly. A little further 
on was a cornet solo. As this was reached all 
the other instruments fell off, except a single vio- 
loncello which was to furnish the accompaniment. 

All the other instruments, of course, except Rob- 
inson's bass-drum. That pounded along, regularly 
and determinedly, when the cornet solo commenced; 
and that pounded along, regularly and solemnly, 
when it finished. Cooke looked around, when he 
found the drum did not rest — his face expressive of 
the blankest astonishment and then of the most ab- 
solute disgust. He motioned peremptorily to Rob- 
inson to stop, with his fiddle-bow, but that worthy 
was looking another way, with the gravest of faces, 
and did not see him. At about this time occurred. 
a passage of complicated harmonies, and the atten- 
tion of the conductor was necessarily absorbed in 
managing the different elements, though he must 
have heard the drum still banging away. 

This harmonic passage over, occurred one loud 
and stormy, in which the cymbals and the drum 
again came into play. This gave Robinson an ex- 
cuse to redouble the force of his blows, and they 
began to fall on the hide of the drum-head as if the 
drummer had been paid for his music by the pound. 
Heavily as the instruments crashed, and fierce as 
were the blasts of the horns, Robinson's drum 
thundered out clearly above them all. Two or three 



EXTKA DRUMMING AT TIIE OLD BROADWAY. 141 

times Cooke managed to look around to see wnat 
could be the matter, and once he shook his fiddle- 
bow threateningly at the delinquent, who might at 
that moment have been surveying land-claims on 
the steppes of Siberia, for any attention he paid the 
maestro. 

By this time the audience liad begun to notice 
the fidget of the conductor and the wondering looks 
of some of the other performers ; and by this time, 
too, they had begun to realize that a drum thunder- 
ing through all the finer passages of an intricate 
composition (solos and all) was something of a nov- 
elty. Some began to laugh, and a few clapped 
hands. This encouraged Robinson, who banged 
away harder than ever, with a regularity to which 
the efforts of the " conscientious man " in the chorus 
of the Academy of Music, are fitful and nervous. 

At length the composition ran into what was in- 
tended to be a delicate allegro, with the violins 
tinkling and one or two flutes just breathing the 
suspicion of a sound. What it was intended to be, 
was one thing ; what it was on this occasion, was 
quite another. A little diminished in the force of 
the blows, perhaps, but still regular and heavy 
enough to dwarf all the other sounds, came the 
" tap tap " " boom-boom " of Robinson's drum. 
It was only at a rare interval that the u tinkle- 
tinkle " of a violin or the " toot-toot " of a flute 
could be distinguished. By this time the audience 
began to enjoy the joke pretty generally, and the 
clapping of hands increised. By this time, too, 
most of the orchestra had got so full of laughter, 
that they could scarcely play at all, though they 
managed not to break down. By this time, finally, 
poor Cooke's face had grown to be the oddest mix- 
ture any man ever saw. Astonishment — rage — vex- 
ation — undecision what to do — all were ludicrous- 



14:2 EXTRA DRUMMING AT THE OLD BROADWAY. 

ly blended there, and making him, altogether, a 
little funnier yet than Kobinson with his steady 
work and his grave face. 

As the piece came very near its close, the old 
man conld stand it no longer. He sprung to his 
feet, jerked his fiddle-bow up in the air with an 
angry motion, and yelled out at the top of his voice 
" Stop !" He might as well have told Niagara to 
stop thundering. All the orchestra were now fairly 
carried away by the joke, and every man blew, and 
fiddled, and crashed, with all the power of the in- 
strument he happened to have in hand. Robinson's 
blows on the drum continued as regular as ever, 
but they had become fearful in their ponderosity. 
Every moment I expected to see the head of the 
drum go in and his efforts come to an untimely end. 

The din grew maddening. Half the audience were 
laughing, or clapping, and one third of them were 
on their feet in uncontrollable enjoyment. The 
Doctor had laughed off and lost his spectacles, and 
I had bargained for a pain in the side for a week. 
A little fellow in the corner of the orchestra, who 
had been playing some minor instrument, suddenly 
came to the conclusion that he was not making 
noise enough, and pitched for the kettle-drum, on 
which he volunteered a " rat-tat-a-tat " accompani- 
ment loud enough to have answered for a charge of 
cavalry. Poor old Cooke could stand it no longer. 
lie made one more attempt to spring up and stop 
the torrent; but if he spoke his voice was drowned 
like a whisper beside a frog-pond in full blast. He 
cast one despairing look at the audience and orches- 
tra — clapped his hands to his ears as if to shut out 
the echoes of Pandemonium — then dropped fiddle 
and bow and plunged through the door under the 
stage, and disappeared. 

He was scarcely gone when the interlude came 



EXTRA DRUMMING AT THE OLD BROADWAY. 143 

to a conclusion, every man doing his best to the 
very last, and the final bangs of Robinson's drum 
sounding above the crash as distinctly as if he had 
been playing altogether alone. Such a storm of 
shouts and clappings of applause, followed by three 
such cheers, as those that saluted the daring inno- 
vator when the performance was over, I think never 
burst through the dome of any theatre before or 
since. And such a grave, stately and self-satisfied 
bow as Robinson rose and made in acknowledge- 
ment, has not often been seen even when apolitical 
General was called out at the Academy or Wal- 
lack's. The thing was a grand success, and no 
doubt the performers saw it in that light, though it 
is to be doubted whether Cooke, flying away from 
that outrage upon all music, took precisely the 
same view of it ! 

I am sorry that I do not know the after result of 
the affair, and its effect on the fortunes of Robin- 
son — but I do not. Any one who wishes to ascer- 
tain, may do as I expect to do some day, after this 
reminder — drop into the snugly crowded little 
library of Dr. Melton McPenzie, in Philadelphia, 
and ask him between tw T o puffs of the Orleans-Galig- 
nani meerschaum. 




XVI* 

THE TWO-FORTY FUNERAL. 



A little paragraph went the rounds of the papers 
a few weeks ago, relating how one Spurr, keeper of 
a livery stable, had grown so much in the habit of 
cautioning his customers not to drive his horses very 
fast — that one day when one of them came after a 
horse and carriage to attend a funeral, Spurr gave 
the customary caution : "Mind that you don't drive 
fast!" "I shall drive fast enough to keep up with 
the procession," replied the customer, " even if I 
kill the horse !" 

It does not seem a very difficult thing, generally, 
to keep up with a funeral procession, on irs way to the 
place of burial, however the hired carriages come 
bach from Greenwood or Calvary Cemetery on the 
hurry-skurry, as if they had been attending any 
thing else rather than the deposit of the human 
body in the place of its last repose. But I have 
known one instance, at least, where good stock and 
sharp driving were necessary to keep up with the 
procession when on the way to the grave ; and that 
is the circumstance I am about to relate. 

Two events were to occur on the same day, at 
and near the little village of Edgewood, then the 
place honored by the residence of the writer. Two 
more dissimilar events could not have been thrown 



THE TWO-FOETY FUNERAL. 145 

together, by any possibility ; and yet eacli demand- 
ed the presence of a minister, and according to 
usual consent each demanded the presence of a con- 
siderable number of people. Captain Bob Ilollis, 
master-mariner in the merchant service,. was to be 
married; and Uncle Ben Kobinson, a venerable 
citizen of eighty, was to be buried. The marriage 
of Captain Bob wa6 set for ten o'clock in the morn- 
ing, to be followed by a breakfast, which was really 
a dinner, eaten at such a time as to allow Captain 
Bob and his bride to reach the next station, and 
catch the noon Irain for their bridal tour ; and Uncle 
Ben was to have his funeral sermon preached at 
twelve, at the little church of Edgewood, and be 
afterwards interred in a cemetery at several miles 
distance. 

Captain Bob was a man in very easy circum- 
stances, owning one of the finest houses in the 
neighborhood. He had been several years a wid- 
ower, before making up his mind to his second mar- 
riage ; and the lady who was about to plight her 
faith to him had been the reigning belle of the sec- 
tion for more years than the Captain had been 
maintaining his state of celibacy. Add to these 
facts the additional one that Captain Bob had been 
pretty well known as a boon companion, and con- 
nected in business, first or last, with nearly all the 
first residents ; and it may be supposed that such 
an event as his wedding could not be allowed to 
come off without invitations being extended to all 
the " first citizens." 

Unfortunately there is sometimes a difference of 
opinion as to what constitutes a- " first citizen," be- 
tween persons estitfiated and those who have the 
duty of estimating them. JSTo one is quite satisfied 
that he has been taken at his full worth, except 
when he is called upon to pay his tax, at which lat- 

7 



146 THE TWO-FORTY FUNERAL. 

ter time he has no idea that he has been depreci- 
ated. Edgewood had one specimen of the outraged 
and the down-trodden. He was a good-looking little 
fellow enough, physically!, except that high-living 
and indolence had given him more— well, we will 
call it embonpoint — than the law of gracefulness 
allows, — and that the spiteful envy and jealousy of 
his disposition had made him as grey as a Norway 
rat, long before he should have sported one thread 
of silver. He had once commanded in a "slab" 
militia regiment, and had there attained the rank 
of Major, which he took as good care that all who 
addressed him should use before his surname, as he 
did that his boot-heels (he was by occupation a cob- 
bler) should be sufficiently high to add an inch to his 
stature, and that he should always strut with his 
head well up and his paunch well stuck forward. 

Major Jeff Taddlewick, once as poor as Job's 
proverbial turkey, had during -the few years pre- 
ceding acquired some property through the deaths of 
relatives, and in certain petty land-speculations ; and 
he fell into the very common error of supposing that 
he had been meanwhile accumulating a corresponding 
amount of additional respectability. Nothing could 
have been further from the fact ; for every dollar 
had added to his arrogance and pomposity, while in- 
creasing occupation had done nothing to wean him 
from his habit of poking his Roman nose into the 
business of every one with whom he could manage 
to force himself into contact. 

Careful people ceased talking, even if engaged in 
the most harmless discussions, the moment that 
Major Taddiewick's nose was seen entering the door 
— from the certainty that if they continued, within 
an hour some totally different version of the conver- 
sation would be circulated in the street, and the 
materials for several quarrels scattered among the 



THE TWO-FORTY FUNERAL. 14:7 

community. Gayer and more reckless people, who 
did not care for results, tolerated the Major's com- 
pany and rather enjoyed it, for he had a sediment of 
drollery at the bottom of his ill-nature, which would 
have made him a pleasant companion had the black 
fang of envy been extracted from his mental mouth. 
He had the faculty of practical joking, too, and 
sometimes made a hit with it, though his malicious 
and reckless disposition generally managed to get a 
good joke into a wrong place and do more or less 
injury by it. 

Major Taddlewick had heard the day before, that 
a good many invitations were out for Captain Bob's 
wedding, and he had received an insult of t#e 
gravest character in Captain 13ob's failure to invite 
him and Mrs. Major Taddlewick. Revenge on the 
Captain and all his guests became a matter of ne- 
cessity. This he brought about in a manner pecu- 
liarly his own, the catastrope already foreshadowed 
being the result. Of course the key to the mystery 
was not obtained until long after, and I only came 
into possession of it by a very roundabout course 
of procedure ; but the explanation must here be 
given before the event it-elf. 

There is perhaps no class of the community so 
thoroughly versed in all the properties of plants 
and herbs, as the old darkey womn who yet exist 
in some portions of the country, and who have 
brought their knowledge from the African coast or 
the West Indies, where it has originated in the in- 
fernal operations of the " Obii " or charms, in which 
everything, from the rankest root that grows in 
the field to the thigh-bone of a new-born baby, is 
brought occasionally into requisition. 

Not far from the little village of Edgewood lived 
Aunt Sarah, a darkey woman of sixty-live or sev- 
enty years, black as the ace of spades, withered like 



148 THE TWO-FORTY FUNERAL. 

an oak-leaf in November, the dispenser of cake 
and beer to a wide circle of small boys who took 
occasion to pass the lane where her little hut was 
located, an unexceptionable cook, and employed as 
an assistant at almost all the " great occasions " 
that took place in the locality. 

It came into the knowledge of Major Taddlewick, 
that .the old woman was retained as assistant cook 
and waiter for the great occasion at Captain Bob's ; 
and within an hour afterwards — to wit, on the even- 
ing before the wedding, he paid a visit to Aunt 
Sarah's hovel. Exactly what words passed no one 
can say, or how high was the bribe the Major offered ; 
but certain it is that the old woman agreed to apply 
her knowledge of aperient and laxative herbs that 
would u physic" without endangering life, and to 
" doctor" the principal articles of food at the wed- 
ding breakfast, with such tasteless preparations as 
would create no suspicion* at the time but a good 
deal of certainty afterwards. 

Well, the eventful day arrived, big with the mar- 
ital fate of Captain Bob Hollis and the mortuary 
fate of Uncle Ben Kobinson. A fine clear bracing 
day in autumn it was, especially fitted for a " turn 
out" at either or botli the "festivities." Carriage 
after carriage rolled up to Captain Bob's, Domine 
Stanton's one-horse fly among the rest, and the yards 
and grounds and the edge of the wood adjoining 
were soon crowded with vehicles. 

Unfortunately, as I thought at the time, but for- 
tunately, as I thought not long afterwards, I was 
among the number of the " slighted," like Major 
Jetf Taddlewick. But I had plenty of parole infor- 
mation of the beauty of the bride, the resplendent 
face of Captain Bob, the benevolent pomposity of 
Domine Stanton, the motherly smirk of Mrs. Dom- 
ine Stanton (who considered herself a little the bet- 



THE TWO FORTY FUNERAL. 149 

ter half in the pastoral charge), the profuse display of 
hot meats, poultries and pastries at that breakfast 
which was really a dinner, and all the other acts and 
things appertaining to the joyous occasion. 

Suffice it to say that the wedding festivities ended, 
the new married couple drove away to the station, 
and the wedding party, forgetting the wedding 
suite and drawing their faces down to the appropri- 
ate length for such an occasion, one by one drove 
down to the little church to attend the obsequies of 
Uncle Ben Robinson. At that part of the day's oc- 
cupation, which did not need an invitation, I was 
present, as also at the funeral progress which fol- 
lowed. 

I could have sworn, two or three times during the 
funeral sermon, that Domine Stanton was not en- 
tirely at ease, and more than once I noticed symp- 
toms of uneasiness and some indecorous going out 
on the part of the congregation. All this was a 
mystery, but excited little comment. 

The funeral services were finally over, the body in 
the hearse, and the procession moving towards the 
little cemetery. I was in one of the carriages that 
followed the mourners closest, and consequently did 
not have any opportunity of observing the train be- 
hind, but had the carriage of Domine Stanton, 
who preceded the Doctor and the hearse, in full 
view. We had a long closed lane to traverse, over 
an entirely open reach of country, with scarcely a 
tree or hedge to break the prospect for miles. At 
the end of that distance, and in the neighborhood 
of the cemetery to which we were proceeding, a 
range of thick woods on an open common bounded 
the prospect. 

We had perhaps traveled two or three miles, 
when I observed with surprise that Domine Stan- 
ton broke suddenly away from the proGession and 



150 THE TWO-FORTY FUNERAL. 

drove rapidly ahead in the direction of the ceme- 
tery. I supposed he had some directions to give in 
advance of the arrival of the cortege, and explained 
the singular movement in that manner. A moment 
after, a pair of spanking bays came by at a full 
trot, with a load that I had seen at the church. At 
this I really did begin to wonder ; and that wonder 
rapidly increased as another carriage broke out of 
the line and shot by at the full trotting speed of the 
horses. 

Another and still another, and each seemed to be 
going faster than the other. By this time my com- 
panion and myself (he had not been at the wedding,) 
became satisfied that something remarkable must 
have occurred, and we drew our light carriage to 
the side of the road, for safety from the heavier ve- 
hicles. Still another and then another came at in- 
creased speed, and directly one carriage con- 
taining half a dozen ladies and gentlemen, went by 
on a fu'l run, the driver plying his lash as if he 
w T as escaping from a pack^of prairie-wolves or hy- 
enas. 

By this time we of the stationary vehicle had 
made up our minds that something involving life or 
death must certainly have occurred before or be- 
hind, and this idea was not lessened w r hen we saw 
the driver of the hearse (who had been at the wed- 
ding,) break off from his sober gait, ply the lash 
to his horses, and away with the most rapid of the 
flying squadron. 

Perhaps half-a-dozen carriages were left slowly 
jogging along or stationary with wonder ; but all 
the rest, apparently in less time than I have taken 
to tell it, w r ere flying away on what appeared to be 
a race for life. What they were flying for, and that 
the strip of woods was the destination upon which 
all had suddenly agreed, all my readers may imag- 



THE TWO-FORTY" FUNERAL. 151 

ine. But they cannot imagine the scene — especially 
after the hearse got fairly into motion ; and such a 
funeral gait was never struck before, I venture to 
affirm; since the bad habit of burying people first 
came into fashion. The carriage-panic at Bull Run, 
with the scarej drivers lashing their horses into 
foam, may have been the same thing on a larger 
scale ; but nothing in all former history could . pre- 
tend to match it. Poor old Uncle Ben Robinson 
probably never rode so fast in his life, as he went to 
his grave ! 

For obvious reasons the curtain may be drawn over 
what followed. The hearse had been abandoned 
by the driver not far from the cemetery ; but there 
were enough of us — the steady ones — i. e., those who 
had not been to the wedding, — to keep watch over 
it until Domine Stanton and the flying crowd came 
back, with very white and sickly-looking counte- 
nances, and performed the last rites of burial. 

My impression is that Major Jeff Taddlewick, 
who still lives to be the crying nuisance of the 
whole country around him, has never yet ceased 
bragging of his exploit. His dirtiest trick of a life- 
time, and necessarily the one which best contented 
him, originated the Two-Forty Funeral. Everybody 
agreed, of course, that the wedding-breakfast at 
Captain Bob Hoi lis' made all the guests sick ; but 
I am not sure that Captain Bob knows to this day, 
how the breakfast came to be so unhealthy. If not, 
I beg to take this method of informing him ; and I 
only hope that he may yet take occasion to break 
every bone in the body of the perpetrator. 



XVII. 

SAM BROWN'S MUSH. 

Boiled Indian meal, or corn meal, under its va- 
rious names of "mush," "suppawn," " spawn," " has- 
ty-pudding," etc., is, with milk, as popular a pre- 
paration as ever made an American Oliver Twist 
hold over his bowl a second or third time and ask 
for " more." It- does not often excite the enthusi- 
asm of the poet or the constructive skill of the ro- 
mancer; but that it lias the power to do the former 
in some instances, the good old poem of Joel Barlow 
bears witness ; and that it can inspire a story which 
has nothing whatever to do with the imagination, 
let this brief sketch give evidence. 

Mush, with real milk accompaniment, is so pop- 
ular, that it may almost be called a " national dish," 
— quite as near to it, at all events, as doughnuts 
and baked beans. It goes with a slippery -luscious- 
ness through the cherry lips of the JSTew England 
girl, resting for an hour from her labor in the factory 
or the kitchen ; it forms a very acceptable " pudding" 
to the coarse meal of the laborer on the farm or the 
railroad of the Middle States ; it filters through the 
ivories of the Georgia negro on massa's plantation 
(always provided said negro has not suddenly be- 
come contraband, run away and left the' house des- 
olate). It is everywhere, where the quiet delights 



sam brown's mush. 153 

and comforts of the country are known; and there 
is at least some imitation of it in the restaurants of 
the city. 

Sam Brown was very fond of mush, and had a 
pretty numerous family who were equally so. The 
time was some five-and-twenty years ago, when 
primitive food and fashions were much more in 
vogue than they are at present ; and the section was 
-very near the place of my own residence at that 
time, where homely comforts were plenty enough, 
but luxuries almost entirely unknown. Though Sam 
was no farmer, lie had a "lot " and a few acres of 
pasture ground, which afforded sustenance more or 
less abundant to a couple of cows of any other breed 
rather than the short-horn Durham or the gentle 
Devon. The milk from these cows was, of course, 
the leading dependence in the way of food for the 
family ; and though it was cooked and served up in 
nearly every way known to rude cookery, it was 
oftener fated to disappear down the hungry throats 
of Sam and his family, in company w T ith enough 
" mush" or "suppawn," to elevate it to the condi- 
tion of lively " spoon victuals," than in any other 
mode of preparation. In those days, in the section 
of country where Sam lived, and in families no 
more wealthy than his, it was customary to boil a 
pot of mush almost every day, have it smoking hot 
for supper, Cold for breakfast the next morning, and 
perhaps a part of it sliced and fried as a substitute 
for hot bread at dinner. 

I should say that Sam was a shoemaker, living in 
Bushy Hollow — a kind of "boss-journeyman" if 
such phrase may be coined for the occasion — him- 
self and two or three apprentices doing the work 
for manufacturers living in the country towns 
adjacent, as the practice is still followed in some 
portions of the Eastern States. Space and fuel 

7* 



154 



were both objects of no small consequence to per- 
sons in Sam's pecuniary circumstances ; and the 
benches for himself and the boys, in winter, were 
consequently arranged along the wall of the kitchen, 
and the same fire that wanned them did the cook- 
ing for the family. The continual running in of 
Mrs. Polly Brown or someone of her four daughters 
from the sitting-room, to look after the welfare of 
the particular pot of food that happened to be over 
the fire, made an agreeable variety for their work ; 
and Sam and his apprentices generally had a word 
and a joke with them nearly every time they made 
their appearance, considerably heightened in spice 
by frequent applications to the little black jug, 
which the " boss " kept under his seat, and passed 
round with commendable equality whenever he 
happened to fancy that he was thirsty. 

One day the big iron pot was hanging over the 
fire in that room, with water set to boil, and to 
be thickened with corn meal for mush whenever it 
should reach the boiling point ; and Sam and his 
apprentices were sitting as usual at their benches, 
hammering and stitching away, Sam with two or 
three drinks of whiskey under his waistcoat, and 
consequently a little jolly, and the boys exceeding- 
ly comfortable, to say the least of it. Artists in 
mush manufacture know that the water requires to 
boil just enough and not too much, before it can be 
" thickened " to advantage, and that the thickening 
roust be done with a dainty hand, and the proper 
quantity of stirring for every thimbleful of meal 
that falls into the water, in order to prevent such a 
calamity as its being " lumpy.'' 

On this particular occasion the fire was slow, and 
the big pot of water, awkwardly hung a foot from 
the fire on clumsy trammels, was very dilatory 
about getting up to that heat which would have 



155 

made it of any use to Fulton. Mrs. Polly Brown 
had come in two or three times to inspect the pro- 
gress of the pot boiling — found the prospect unsa- 
tisfactory, and gone out again. At last, well along 
in the afternoon, Mrs. Brown made another entry, 
took another look at the pot over the fire, saw that 
though it did not quite boil it was on the verge of a 
simmer, and so went to the cupboard, took out a 
sugar-b<>x of salt, holding perhaps a couple of quarts, 
sifted in the necessary handful to salt the pot of 
mush, put back the box, and went back to her 
work. 

Only a little while had elapsed when Sally, one 
of the daughters, came in and took a survey of the 
pot, altogether ignorant that her mother had lately 
been in the vicinity. She, too, found the water at 
a simmer, and not ready for thickening. So she, 
too, went to the cupboard and got the box of salt, and 
put in what she imagined to be the requisite quan- 
tity for seasoning. No one stopped her, though all 
the shoemakers saw the operation. One of the ap- 
prentices was about to do so, when a sharp " hist !" 
from Sam told him that there was fun in the wind, 
and kept the meddler silent. So Sally concluded 
her salting and went out, while Sam indulged in a 
quiet chuckle over the fact that the mush might be 
the least in the world loo salt, if many of them 
played at cross purposes and each attended to it. 

Fate seemed to favor the mischievous, if not the 
brave, on that occasion ; for Kate, another of the 
daughters, happened to be crossing the room to go 
to the loft, only a few minutes afterward. As she 
passed, she happened to cast a glance at the pot — 
saw that it did not quite boil — thought that she 
could save coming in on purpose, by just salting the 
mixture while she happened to be in the room- 
went to the cupboard, got the box and salted it 



156 

again ! This time, as may be supposed, the appren- 
tices understood that Sam intended to have the 
mush just as salt as the fates ordained, and made no 
attempt to interfere. Kate went on to the loft, with 
a consciousness of having done her duty; and Sam, 
when she had closed the door, fell back on his 
bench in a perfect convulsion of laughter — one of 
those half-suppressed chuckles that made him red 
in the face and threatened strangulation. He laugh- 
ed for about five minutes, till he found relief in the 
tears that ran down his cheeks from the pain of a 
stitch in the side ; and the apprentices joined him 
with a good will, though it is probable that they 
did not see all the fun of having their supper 
spoiled. 

When Sam had finished his laugh, he took a mode 
of repairing the damage caused by the women's 
blunders, w^ich certainly would not be adopted in 
Secessia during the present dearth of salt, in which 
they spank the babies and hold their heads over a 
barrel in order to catch the briny tears. His ope- 
rations showed about an equal disregard for the 
value of the salt and the quality of the mush — ordi- 
nary tastes being consulted. In other words, he got 
up from the bench, went to the cupboard for the 
salt-box, opened it and poured the entire contents 
— perhaps a quart or thereabouts, into the pot — 
after which he sat down and resumed his work very 
demurely, 

Not long after, Mrs. Polly Brown made her ap- 
pearance again, found the water boiling merrily (it 
might have been, by that time, one of the boiling 
salt-springs so famous for invalids in certain locali- 
ties,) and thickened it. Nothing was said by Sam 
or his apprentices, though the latter had some diffi- 
culty, it is probable, to keep from exploding over 
the nature of the mixture at which the housewife 



SAM brown's mush. 157 

was working in such good faith. Once more re- 
placed on the fire, the preparation boiled away 
cozily again, and by supper time it was to all ap- 
pearance capital " mush." 

In honor of the fun that had already taken place 
and the other fun that was coming, it is to be sup- 
posed that Sam passed round the jug that afternoon 
a little oftener than usual, for wdien he went to the 
supper table the twinkle in his eye was very droll 
indeed, and the apprentices had quite enough toddy 
in them to make them capable of enjoying any mis 
chief that might turn up. When they came in to 
supper from a short "lark" they had been enjoy- 
ing in the yard, the mush was smoking hot in a 
large dish in the centre, and bowls with milk were 
arranged round the sides of the table, with a big 
earthen cup of molasses for such as might prefer 
the preparation with that sauce. If Mrs. Polly 
Brown had been a very acute -observer of the 
human countenance, she might have discovered, as 
she did not, that the large dish of mush was a mine, 
all ready to explode into mirth if it did not blow 
up her domestic tranquility. 

Sam took the big pewter spoon that stood in the 
middle of the smoking preparation, ladled out a 
portion into his bowl, and helped each of the ap- 
prentices to a corresponding quantity. By this 
means all the males were provided before either of 
the females had an opportunity to test the cookery. 
Sam, with a droll twinkle in his eye, ladled a spoon- 
ful out of the milk in his bowl, put it into his 
month, and with several audible " tsits," proceeded 
to taste it. The effect on the inside of the mouth must 
have been very like that said to be produced on the 
outer cuticle by the sudden plunge of a thin-skinned 
man into the Dead Sea ; but the apprentices fol- 
lowed suit, and audible " tsits" went round the 



158 



table. Evidently something must be wrong, to 
judge by the expression of the male faces ; but 
what, the female portion of the family had no idea. 

" Why, Polly Brown !" Sam finally broke out, 
after rolling the compound around in his mouth 
until it had nearly pickled the tongue and palate — 
" why, Polly Brown, you havn't put a bit of salt in 
this mush !" 

" Havn't I ?" said Mrs. Polly. " Good gracious !" 
Then suddenly remembering the very act of doing 
so, she repelled the unhousewifely suggestion. "Yes, 
I did — I know I did ! I remember salting it before 
the water boiled !" 

" Why,- mother!" spoke up Sally, "then the mush 
must, have been salted twice, for I am sure that I 
went in and salted it, just before it was thickened ! 
Don't you remember I did, Pa ?" 

" Did you ever !" said Kate, the second girl. 
" Why, there must be salt enough in it, then, for I 
am sure that /stopped when I was going up stairs, 
and salted it !" 

u And I'll be cussed," said Sam, breaking away 
from the table, running to the cupboard, bringing 
out the empty box and throwing it upon the table, 
preparatory to rolling over on the floor in a con- 
vulsion of laughter that fairly shook the room — " I'll 
be cussed if /didn't salt it !" » 

There was a matrimonial storm, shortly after- 
wards, in Bushy Hollow, Mrs. Polly Brown loudly 
accusing Sam of having " spoiled " the mush, though 
how any one could have spoiled it after its having 
been three times salted, remains a question. For 
the truth of a story in addition, ever since told in 
the neighborhood, I cannot vouch, as I can for that 
already recorded. That supplementary story is ti- 
the effect that Sam's pigs were fed with the over- 
salted compound, it being found unavailable for 



BAM BROWNS MUSH. 



159 



household use ; and that the effect of that quantity 
of salt on the animals was such as to cure them in 
the pen,, so that when killed they proved to be salt 
pork and never needed pickling ! But whether the 
pigs were salted or no, there is not the slightest 
doubt of the saline qualities of Sam Brown's Mush. 



XVIII. 

PAYING OFF A PARTNER. 

It is no matter of any consequence on which one 
of the great newspaper streets of New- York the fol- 
lowing incidents occurred — what was really the 
name of the newspaper in the office of which they 
took place — or how many years have elapsed since 
that period. It is enough to say that they did oc- 
cur, under my own immediate observation, and so 
long ago that a good many of those who laughed 
most heartily at the time have probably forgotten 
all about them. 

I was at that time sub-editor, proof-reader, writer 
of puffs and moral essays, and general man of all 
work for " a paper of wide circulation and exten- 
sive influence," which I may designate as the 
Weekly Balloon, from the simple fact that I might 
some day find my nose pulled if I gave the real 
name. 

The Balloon was the joint property of two pro- 
prietors, who at the same time both officiated as 
responsible editors, — the one, Wilson, looking most 
after the business affairs, the reading of the longer 
manuscripts, and the column of " Answers to 
Correspondents ;" — and the other, Burke, passing 
judgment upon the poetry and short sketches re- 
ceived, making selections, writing short stories, 



PAYING OFF A PARTNER. 161 

occasional but very rare indulgences in* longer ones, 
and having the literary and belles-lettres charge of 
the paper generally. J3oth had been practical prin- 
ters in early life, and entered the editorial profes- 
sion through that legitimate channel. 

No two men could be more dissimilar, either in 
person or character, than Wilson and Burke, though 
they agreed capitally — perhaps for that very rea- 
son. Wilson was a tall man, of gravely classic 
face, though with a merry twinkle in his blue eye, 
that showed how capable he was of appreciating a 
joke. He seemed the very pink and pattern of 
strict morality, and I have no doubt that Mrs. Wil- 
son, a neat little round-faced woman, who used oc- 
casionally to drop in at the office of an afternoon, in 
time to have Wilson go home with her to tea — 
thought him so. The fact was, that he had an ir- 
resistable propensity for a pretty face, and a still 
more overpowering one for a neat anklej and that 
oftener than semi-occasionally he fell into delicate 
flirtations with the lady-contributors who visited 
the office, the extent of which I never had any 
means of ascertaining. He was decidedly handsome, 
and that fact, perhaps, had spoiled him a little and 
given the small dash of feminine frolic to his char- 
acter, to which I have alluded. 

Burke was the very antipodes of Wilson. He was 
short and stout, with a head of curly black hair, and 
a face showing unmistakable marks of Hiberniai 
blood, from which he was only a couple of genera- 
tions removed. lie was a jolly, rollicking, story 
telling fellow, fond of a joke, and with no propen 
sity to conceal the fact. Practical pranks were en 
tirely in his line, though he did not find occasion to 
indulge in them very often within the preciucts of 
the Balloon office. I think he bore the reputation 
with Mrs. Burke, whom I also saw occasionally at 



162 PAYING OFF A PARTNER. 

the office, of being a regular little scamp among 
the women, while I do not believe that he ever 
went beyond a harmless jest with one of them. So 
much for his merry face and mischievous manner 
— two characteristics which often give men a dread- 
ful reputation to which they are by no means enti- 
tled. 

The editorial room of the Balloon was at that 
time arranged into three divisions. In the outer, 
which ran the whole length of the room, I had my 
desk, while two or three others for the mail-clerk 
and for chance contributors were distributed about 
the walls and partitions. The other half of the 
room was again subdivided, and in one of these 
halves Wilson had his desk, while Burke had his 
in the other. All the room was open at the top, so 
that voices could be heard when persons were in 
loud conversation ; but no one could either see with- 
in the room of the other, or hear what was said in a 
tone of voice pitched at a low conversational* key. 

As I occupied the outer room, and was there al- 
most all the time during business hours, I neces- 
sarily saw all who passed through into the rooms of 
either of the proprietors, and I sometimes acted as a 
sort of lazy usher — (keeping my seat all the while) 
— to direct unaccustomed visitors to the proper 
apartments. The Balloon had a large corps of lady- 
contributors, nearly all of whom brought their own 
manuscripts to the office and made the necessary 
arrangements for publication. Burke had the larger 
proportion of these visitors, while I noticed that on 
the average those who visited Wilson stayed much 
the longer. 

I was scribbling away at my little desk one da} r , 
engaged in the melancholy occupation of writing up 
the " humorous department" of the paper, without 
a particle of humor either in myself or my material, 



PAYING OFF A PARTNER. 163 

— when a lady came in at the office door and en- 
quired for Mr. Wilson. I not only directed her to 
the door of his private de.'i, but on that special oc- 
casion got up to show her across the room. The 
lady had a roll of manuscript in her hand, and in 
that respect looked like any of the five hundred lady 
visitors. But while the majority of them looked 
decidedly passe, (don't let the literary ladies sup- 
pose that I am slandering them ! — literary talent, 
whether in man or woman, seldom ripens so as to 
be available, until the first roses of youth have died 
from the cheek) — while the majority of them looked 
decidedly passe, I sa} r , this woman was really a Cle- 
opatra of dark beauty. I remember her looks, and 
even her dress, (which was of light plaid silk, robe 
and mantle, and the mantle heavily quilled,) to this 
day. Heavy masses of curling black hair — mag- 
nificent dark eyes, with lashes that swept her cheek 
— -a rose-bud mouth and cheeks of peachy bloom 
that had never been bought at the perfumer's — a 
figure of queenly height and proportion, — all these 
I caught at a glance ; and if I had not been a poor 
devil of a sub-editor, without even a private room 
or a license to fall in love, I should have been thor- 
oughly intoxicated with her in the short space of ■ 
time that she required to cross from the outside 
door to that of Wilson's sanctum. 

As it was, I only fell so much in love as to be 
able to describe her at this distance of time. She 
passed into Wilson's room, and very soon a low 
murmur of conversation sprung up in that quarter. 
Though I could not distinguish the words, I could 
easily recognize the difference between the two 
voices. Very soft and sweet was that of the lady, 
while Wilson's seemed low and tremulous, indicat- 
ing that he was somehow " knocked off his perpen- 
dicular," as Burke occasionally used to say of him. 



164: PAYING OFF A PARTNER. 

This probably lasted half an hour, and then I 
heard the moving of chairs, as if the visitor was 
getting up to take her departure. Directly the door 
opened, and Wilson came out with her, his face all 
aglow with pleasure and excitement, and hers, it 
seemed to me, scarcely as calm and equable as it 
had been when she went in. Just as they passed 
out and Wilson was about to show her the extraor- 
dinary courtesy (for him) of accompanying her 
across my room to the outer door, that of Burke's 
room opened, and he came out, with his pen in his 
mouth, ostensibly looking for his scissors, or the 
paste-pot, (there was no mucilage-pot ready at hand 
in those days,) or some other very important trifle. 

I had an idea then, and I have never got over it, 
that Burke did not really want anything, but that 
he had heard the female voice for some time in his 
partner's room, knew when they were coming out, 
and had determined to see what manner of woman 
it was that could keep Wilson's attention so long. 
If that was his object, he accomplished it, for he 
caught a fair view of the lady as Wilson handed 
her out of the door, and I heard him give vent to 
an emphatic " phew !" as he recognized her beauty. 

" Wilson, who the deuce have you got there V 
he asked, as the latter was recrossing the room to 
his own door. "She is as pretty as a picture !" he 
added. 

" Is she ? well, I did not notice," was the reply of 
Wilson, though his voice and manner betrayed him, 
and he was evidently excited if not agitated. 

"Humph, you old rat! I know better than that!" 
commented Burke. " Catch you letting a hand- 
some face go without noticing it! But who is 
she?" 

"/don't know," said Wilson. " I know that she 
bothered me a long time about a roll of manuscript 



PAYING OFF A PARTNER. 165 

that she brought with her, and that she made me 
promise to read it this week and say whether it will 
be used, in our ' Answers to Correspondents.' I 
promised her that to get clear of her." 

" And you don't know her name ?" again asked 
Bnrke. 

" No," said Wilson, though I think that he was 
telling a very permissable fib. " I only know the 
name she left on the roll of manuscript, to be an- 
swered by." 

" Well, what is that?" persisted Burke. 

" You seem to take a good deal of interest in her," 
answered Wilson, " for a stranger. The name on 
the manuscript is k ' Julie.' " 

" Humph ! sounds French," said Burke. " Pretty 
woman, any how you can fix it !" and he went into 
his own room, closed the door, and I suppose went 
to work. But I caught a glance of his eye as he 
went through the door — a glance directed out of 
the corner at Wilson," and I saw there was mischief 
in it, though I had no idea, as the Westerners say, 
where the lightning was going to strike. 

For that day, in the details of my business, the 
occurrence passed out of my mind, and I do not re- 
member that I thought of it again until two days 
after, when the proofs began to come down stairs 
for my reading. They came in a huge bundle, as 
usual, fifteen or twenty at once. Running down the 
galley that contained the " Answers to Correspon- 
dents," I struck directly upon the name of " Julie " 
and instantly recollected it as the same that had 
been given by the pretty woman. I find a copy of 
this notice in my scrap-book, made from recollection 
a few days after, under circumstances which will 
soon explain themselves. It reads precisely as fol- 
lows : 



166 PAYING OFF A PARTNER. 

. ". Julie. — The MS. has been examined. The style 
of composition is admirable, and the story exhibits 
a highly cultivated taste which cannot fail to bring 
the writer into eventual celebritv. We have made 
arrangements for immediate publication." 

This was altogether out of the common order of 
our notices, and especially different from Wilson's 
grave and business-like style of communicating with 
correspondents through the paper. I saw at a 
glance that my first idea had been correct — that 
Wilson had really been very much smitten with the 
lady of the dark eyes— and that he intended to make 
his court to her and probably induce her to make 
frequent visits to the office, by paying her this 
marked compliment — a kind of compliment, the de- 
licious sweetness of which to young writers, old ones 
become almost too much hacknied to recognize. 
However, all that was no business of mine, and I 
only make this explanation of what I understood 
from the notice, because it has a bearing on what 
comes after. 

There were no serious errors in the proof, that 1 
remember, and if any there were, they were cer- 
tainly corrected for a revise was taken, and that 
revise Wilson himself read — a very fortunate cir- 
cumstance for me, in connection with any further 
employment as proof-reader in that office, as it af- 
terwards appeared. 

It is not to be supposed that having once read 
the proof, and examined the revise, I should again 
have seen the matter before it went to press ; nor 
was it at all likely that any other person would read 
it, either in type or on another proof, until it ap- 
peared in the paper. It is pretty evident that no- 
body did read it, except perhaps one. However 
that may have been, the week wore on and the 



PAYING OFF A PARTNER. 167 

Balloon was published — all fair, smooth and satis- 
factory. 

I was sitting again at my desk, the day after pub- 
lication, when a rather loud-voiced and rough-faced 
man, of a decidedly foreign aspect, entered the 
office. Neither one of the partners were at the time 
in their rooms. The visitor angrily asked for Mr. 
Wilson, in English only a little broken, and I ans- 
wered him, of course, that he was out. How soon 
would he be in ? I did not know. Be in to-day ? 
I supposed so — might not be gone for any length of 
time. Would the visitor wait ? lie said he would, 
and did wait, slamming himself down in a spare 
chair with force enough nearly to knock through 
the cane bottom, and slapping a big switch against 
his boot, with an air which indicated that he would 
like to have slapped something else with it. I 
wrote on, but uncomfortably, with an idea that I 
had a volcano behind me, which might blow out at 
any moment. 

After half an hour of waiting, and when my new 
friend had apparently found himself a little cooled, 
I heard Wilson's deliberate step coming up the 
stairs, and he came into the room the moment after. 
As he did so, 1 turned to the man in the chair and 
said: 

" There is Mr. Wilson — you wanted to see him." 

The man in the chair sprang up as if a galvanic 
battery had been suddenly applied to him, rapidly 
crossed the room to Wilson, pulling a newspaper 
out of his pocket at the same time, opened the pa- 
per, slapped it with his switch, and burst out in lan- 
guage not enough broken to need reproducing it in 
that particular : 

" Are you Mr. Wilson ? What the d — 1 do you 
mean by abusing my wife ?" 

" Abusing your wife ? — who is your wife ? — I do 



168 PAYING OFF A PARTNER. 

not know what you are talking about !'' exclaimed 
Wilson, slightly starting back. 

" Then look here !" said the loud man, slapping 
his hand on the paper this time, instead of the 
switch. " You call my wife c depraved ' and ' abomi- 
nable !' My wife never was depraved or abomina- 
ble !" 

" Who the d — 1 is your wife !" broke out Wilson, 
now about as angry as his visitor. 

" My wife has been writing for yon under the 
name of ' Julie,'" said the loud man. " You prom- 
ised to look over her story, and she said you were 
a gentleman. But I see you are a big blackguard !" 

" Take care !" said Wilson, with a motion that 
looked ominously like an intention to strike, which 
he evidently reconsidered. " Your wife — Julie — I 
did not say so about any such woman ! Where the 
d — 1 is what you mean ?" 

"Here!" thundered the loud man, handing the 
paper to Wilson with another slap of the hand. I 
saw that it was a copy of the last Balloon. Wilson 
took the paper — read — rubbed his e)es — read again 
— then burst out with one single word that told sev- 
eral volumes: 

" D nation !" 

I have seldom seen a man so angry. He rushed 
to the desk where I was yet sitting — threw down 
the paper on it with a slam, and said : 

" What the d — 1 does all this mean ? Didn't you 
read that proof? — that proof — there f — 'Answers, to 
Correspondents ' — ' Julie' ?" 

" Of course I read it !" I said, " and so did you, 
for I saw you ! What is the matter?" 

" Yes, I did read it myself!" said Wilson, " but 
there was no such cursed stuff there then ! See 
what it is, now /" 

He gave me time, now, to read, and I read. The 



PAYING OFF A PARTNER. 169 

notice, the original of which I have before given, 
read at that juncture as follows : 

" Julie — The MS. has been examined. The style 
of composition is abominable, and the story ex- 
hibits a highly depraved taste which cannot fail to 
bring the writer into eventual misery. We have 
made arrangements for immediate destruction." 

Some printer had dextrously changed " admira- 
ble " to " abominable," " cultivated " to " deprav- 
ed," " celebrity" to " misery," and "publication" to 
"destruction" — making, it will be observed, rather 
a marked difference in the tone of the notice ! 

Perhaps Wilson did not wish to have me for a 
witness to any more of the conversation, for he in- 
vited the loud man inside. I have no doubt he 
made any quantity of explanations, offered to pub- 
lish" the matter the next week, and tendered a thou- 
sand apologies to the aggrieved lady, if ahe would 
only come after them. I heard some of the words, 
especially those of the husband, though not enough 
to give me the chain of his observations. What- 
ever may have occurred, the loud man did not look 
in much better humor when he came out, and I 
noticed that he took the roll of manuscript away 
with him. It never came back to the Balloon 
office (1 may as well say here) nor did the lady of 
the dark eyes ever again cross the threshold while 
I remained in that employment. 

The visitor had scarcely gone, that day, when 
Wilson came out of his room again, came up to my 
desk, and said : 

" Do you know any thing about this cursed trick ? 
Yes or no, upon the word of a man !" 

" Upon my honor I do not know anything about 
it," was the answer I made, and I do not believe 



170 EATING OFF A PARTNER. 

that he really suspected me. The next moment I 
heard his long legs going up the stairs that led to 
the composing room— two steps at a time. For 
what happened there I had afterwards the word of 
the foreman, and it was only what might have been 
expected — a number of angry enquiries on the part 
of Wilson as to who had meddled with the matter 
on the galley — denials on the part of the printers that 
any of them had done so — the end of all which was 
that the mystery was not cleared up in the least 
decree, except that the printers were exonerated. 

Wilson made a straight guess at the perpetrator 
of the prank, however, I fancy, from the first. I 
am very sure that /did, from the moment of read- 
ing the altered paragraph. Some night during the 
week, when all the printers had gone home, Burke 
had quietly gone up to the composing room— made 
the alterations, in the midst of diabolical chuckles 
over the scrape into which he was getting Wilson, 
and got away again, as the newspapers say of the 
pickets who burn buildings in the occupancy of the 
hostile army — " without being discovered." It was 
not Wilson to say a word to Burke on the subject, 
even if he had had proof of the operation. He nat- 
urally preferred to dissemble his chagrin and " pay 
him off" when the proper time should arrive. 

That time arrived,. not many months after, though 
long enough for Burke to have relaxed the strict- 
ness of his watch for a "lick back." 

Burke was really a very spirited sketch- writer, 
and he wrote longer stories, when he would enter 
upon the labor, that won and deserved popularity. 
He won that success, too, when he did strive for it, 
without plunging at all into the deeply sensational 
or " blood-and-thunder " style of literature. For 
anything of the latter class he had a most unmiti- 
gated contempt, and would about as soon have 



PAYING OFF A PARTNER. 171 

taken a dose of strychnine as willingly allowed his 
name to be appended to anything of the school of 
romance which has furnished ns the " Fiery Fiend 
of Fiddlefaddle " and the " Last of the Blood-Tubs." 

Burke finally commenced a story of English life, 
one week, after gathering an immense amount of 
material for a tale which should run through fif- 
teen or twenty numbers. What the name was is 
now a matter of no consequence. He had an un- 
limited number of characters involved, and man- 
aged them, in the opening chapters, with extraordi- 
nary skill. Sharp, keen character-sketching, with 
trenchant wit, graphic descriptions of scenery, criti- 
cisms on art and literature, and all the pleasauter 
and more refined characteristics of the novelette, 
were the staple of what Burke evidently designed 
to make his master-work, to which he of course put 
his full name. As many other story- writers do when 
editorially connected with the papers to which they 
are contributing, — Burke wrote his numbers from 
week to week as they were wanted, instead of finish- 
ing up the whole story before the commencement 
of publication. 

Ihe tale had been running for some seven or 
eight weeks, and the interest was just beginning to 
be fairly evolved, when Burke was suddenly called 
to go East, by some property business there. He 
went away, expecting to be back again in two or 
three days, but was detained much longer than he 
expected. Finally a letter came from him, saying 
that he had been very busy — that he could not yet 
be home for a day or two — that he could not furnish 
the number of the story for that week — and that it 
would be necessary to make an apology to the read- 
ers and promise it for the number following. 

I handed the letter to Wilson, who was at the 
time in his room, and asked him what was to be 



172 PAYING OFF A PARTNER, 

done about it. He swore a little over the fact that 
all the influence of the story on the circulation of 
the paper was killed by the break, and wished every 
man who commenced publishing a story before he 
had done writing it, was in some unpleasant subter- 
ranean locality. Just then the foreman, who knew 
of Burke's absence and had not heard anything of 
the instalment of the story, came down stairs to 
look after it. This set Wilson into a renewed rage, 
•which, however, broke directly into a chuckle for 
which I could not see any especial reason. 

"Never mind," he said to the foreman. " Wait 
till to-morrow morning, and we will try to find 
something that will do to fill up the space." The 
foreman accordingly Went up stairs again. 

A few minutes after I saw Wilson come out into 
the outer room, and get the hanging-file of the cur- 
rent volume of the Balloon, which he took in with 
him. From that time I did not see anything of him 
during the entire afternoon, except once or twice 
wheii I had occasion to go into the room for a mo- 
ment, in which instances he was scribbling away at 
his desk with railroad speed, paying no attention to 
anybody or anything. Towards night I saw him 
send up to the printers a large roll of matter, and 
supposed, of course, that he had been supplying the 
vacant space of Burke's story with some lucubra- 
tions of his own. 

When the story-proofs came down to me, late the 
next day, I altered my opinion as to what Wilson 
had been doing. With a full recollection of the 
prank played by his partner in the " Notices to 
Correspondents," Wilson had not been supplying 
the place of Burke's story, but supplying Burlaps 
story itself. And such a supply ! B'urke had in- 
tended the story to run at least two or three months 



PAYING OFF A PARTNER. 173 

longer, but it had no after occasion to run, or do 
anything else, after that — it was finished! 

It is impossible to particularize, at this distance 
of time, and as I have no copy, the contents of that 
wonderful three or four columns. But I distinctly 
remember that he brought all the characters over to 
this country, took them to the West, introduced an 
Italian bandit, two or three Arabs and an elephant, 
and in the concluding chapter killed oft* no less than 
eleven of the prominent personages, by various 
cruelties, from duels and taking poison, to the blow- 
ing up of a powder-mill, and the running oft* a whole 
train of cars into the Mississippi! It was certainly 
a most stupendous performance ; and there, at the 
head of that fearful mass of droll impossibility and 
absurdity, stood the name of Burke as author. 

Exactly in that shape the conclusion of the story 
went out to the readers of the Balloon. If it did 
not quite' satisfy the readers who had been interested 
in the original story, I fancy that it furnished as 
much amusement as could well have been extracted 
from the same space in any human language. The 
general impression was, I believe, that Burke must 
have written these concluding chapters while suf- 
fering under a severe fit of the delirium tremens, 
and that the stuff had crept into the paper without 
Wilson's seeing it ! That is about as near, by the 
way, as human calculations generally come to the 
reality ! 

It was two days after the publication when Burke 
reached the city. Somebody had shown him the 
papsr, and his condition of helpless rage may be 
imagined, but if it is to be described somebody else 
than myself must make the attempt! When he 
reached the office, Wilson was sitting in his room, 
writing, probably, and very quiet. Burke strode 
across the outer room, his face stormy as a thunder- 



17± PAYING OFF A PARTNER. 

cloud, flnn^ open the door of Wilson's room, strode 
in, and broke out — 

" Who the d— 1 and thunder " 

He did not get any further with the question at 
that moment, and I think he never did afterwards. 
I heard Wilson interrupt him, and I could fancy 
him lying coolly back in his chair as he did so : — 

" The same fellow, I suppose, who altered 

my answer to a correspondent, not long ago ! Do 
you know who that was ?" 

Burke's reply was a laugh. He w T as conquered 
They went out together a few minutes afterwards, 
and I have an idea that they might have been found 
moistening their clay somewhere in the neighbor- 
hood. At all events, they were both quite as good 
friends as usual afterwards, and no quarrel had 
grown, as I was afraid might be the case, out of 
" paying off a partner." 




XIX. 

HOW WATTY BRIGGS DIED, AND HOW 
SQUIRE HORTON RESURRECTED HIM. 

It is not usual to consider death a subject for mer- 
riment, and yet I submit that there are circum- 
stances in which the name of the grim old monster 
may be used in close juxtaposition to a broad laugh. 
If the readers of this sketch do not agree with me 
that the unfortunate demise of the hero was a very 
funny circumstance, and that his return to life was 
one of the drolleries that one may properly remem- 
ber for a lifetime — I shall stand convicted of hav- 
ing trifled with a very serious subject, and pay the 
penalty of public reprobation. 

Among the residents of the country village of 
Edgewood, where I happened to be located a dozen 
or more of years ago, was one Walter or Watty 
Briggs, a jovial, hearty, intelligent and well-to-do 
man, who blended the two incongruous occupations 
of house-builder and small farmer. The former 
had been the " trade " to which he was brought up ; 
but when he had amassed sufficient property to be- 
come the owner of a small landed estate, the smell 
of the freshly -turned earth had produced the same 
effect upon him that it has done upon many a man 
before and since, and spoiled his steadiness in his 
former occupation. 



176 HOW WATTY BKIGGS DIED. 

Briggs, farmer of twenty or thirty acres, had at 
the time referred to almost ceased to be a house- 
builder. Unlike the majority of the changelings, 
he prospered fairly though moderately, and became 
the unembarrassed proprietor of a neat little resi- 
dence, with well-stocked out-buildings, and all the 
conditions of comfortable living. His family at that 
time consisted of a wife and half-a-dozen children 
of ages ranging from three to thirteen ; and he and 
they held a nattering place of respect in the com- 
munity. 

It was at this time that Watty Briggs fell seriously 
ill with erysipelas — a disease often lightly regarded, 
but one that has few more dangerous rivals when it 
has a tendency to mount to the brain. For two or 
three days Briggs was confined to the house, and 
several of the neighbors had called upon him ; but 
no bad results had as yet threatened, and no one 
doubted that the disease would soon run its course 
and leave him fully restored. 

It happened, however, that a day or two before 
succumbing to the disease, Briggs had made a bar- 
gain for a pair of horses, with a man residing at 
some distance, who was to deliver them at his resi- 
dence on a certain day. That day came when he 
had been some days confined, and when he was 
really very ill. When the report was made to him 
that the new horses had made their appearance, the 
anxiety of the thrifty farmer triumphed over the 
prudence of the man, and he petitioned to be assist- 
ed to the window, so that he could see his purchase. 
This favor was accorded by Mrs. Briggs, and the 
day being a raw and cool one in November, the re- 
suit was that a sufficient chill was brought on in a 
few minutes, to drive the disease to the head, and 
that with the imprudent exposure, and the excite- 
ment of mind connected with the horse-purchase, 



HOW WATTY BRIGGS DIED. ITT 

"Watty Briggs was a raving maniac an hour after, 
the erysipelas apparently settling on his brain, and 
his life really in danger. 

. All the people of each small country village are 
of course aware when any well-known resident is 
sick ; and the day following every resident of Edge- 
wood knew that Briggs had exposed himself, taken 
a sudden relapse, and was rapidly sinking. His death 
within a few hours did not seem, improbable, and his 
family were nearly distracted. That afternoon, in 
common with many of the neighbors, I went to the 
house to see the sick friend from whom I might soon 
be called to part ; but when I reached the house I 
found a state of affairs existing for which I was not 
in the least degree prepared. 
Watty Briggs was dead ! 

That is, Watty Briggs said he was dead ; and he 
certainly ought to have known more about his own 
physical state than any of his visitors, or even the 
doctor! And as a droll old sea-captain once re- 
marked in my hearing, of a lady who screamed out, 
in the extremity of some temporary pain, that " she 
was dying!" — here was a man of unimpeachable 
veracity proclaiming that he was dead, and why 
should we not believe it? 

He lay upon his back, covered up in the bed, 
neither incapable of speech or motion, and not half 
so much emaciated by sickness as I had expected 
to find him. His eyes were open, though staring a 
little like insanity, and his facial appearance was 
not improved by the white cloths that bound his 
head. I should not have taken him for a dead or 
even a dying man, but for his personal assurance ; 
though it was not difficult to perceive that the dis- 
ease was really preying upon the brain, and to 
know that such a hallucination would probably ex- 

8* 



178 HOW WATTY BRIGGS DIED. 

hanst him in a few hours, so as to give disease and 
death the victory. 

" How do you feel, Mr. Briggs?" I asked, going 
up to the bedside. 

" Me?— I don't feel at all !" was the reply. 

"Ah!" I said, "that is a little singular. Men 
generally feel quite as much when they are sick as 
when they are welh". 

" Humph ! yes," said the invalid — " sick men, but 
not dead ones! /am dead." 

" Indeed !" I said, " when did you die ?'' 

"About two hours ago," he replied.. "I have 
been dying all day, and about that time the old fel- 
low got the best of me." 

" Sure you're dead ?" I asked. 

"I should be a fool if I wasn't!" he replied, a 
little sulkily. " I know something yet, if I am 
dead ! They are going to lay me out by and bye. 
Mrs. Briggs is making the shroud, now!" and then 
lie tried to look round towards the head of the room, 
where his wife sat at the time, sewing on a shirt. 

" When are they going to have the funeral ?" I 
asked, satisfied that there was no use contesting the 
matter with the monomaniac, and anxious to see 
how far he would go in his hallucination. Mrs. 
Briggs evidently considered the question a cruel 
one, for she burst into tears and left the room, while 
some of the other visitors shook their heads at me 
and laid their lingers on their lips. 

" Well, I don't know," said the dead man, " sup- 
pose they will bury me sometime this week, for 
I've no doubt they will be glad to get me under 
ground !" 

Very soon after, Mrs. Briggs made her appear- 
ance with a basin of some description of gruel in- 
tended for the sick man. She came up to the side 



HOW WATTY BEIGGS DIED. 179 

of the bed, raised his head on the pillows, and made 
preparations to feed him with a spoon. 

" What is this stuff, Mary ?" he asked. 

" Grnel, Watty. Come, eat it ; like a good fel- 
low! It will make you well." 

" I tell you I am dead, and I can't eat ! Gruel 
for a corpse ! Did you ever hear of such cursed 
nonsense in your life ?" appealing to me. 

" I never did !" I said, and felt that 1 was quite 
correct in the expression. 

" There, take it away and don't bother !" said the 
dead man. " Get my shroud done as soon as you 
can, before I am so stiff that you can't get it on." 

Thereupon Mrs. Briggs, who was a very good, 
tender hearted little woman, again burst into tears, 
and went away with her gruel, waiting the coming 
of the doctor. 

" Lean down here," said the dead man, " I want 
to say something to you that all the rest must not^ 
hear." I leaned down. " Do you know what Mary' 
is hurrying that shroud so for ?" 

" No, not exactly," I answered. 

" Well, I'll tell you !" he said. " She wants to 
get me buried and out of the way, so that she can 
have a chance for Tom Kelsey !" From that mo- 
ment, though the married life of Briggs and his 
wife had been uninterruptedly happy, apparently, 1 
knew that he had been at some time really jealous 
of Tom Kelsey, a good-looking railroad-conductor 
on one of the lines in the neighborhood—for half- 
crazy men, like drunken ones, give expression, dur- 
ing their mad periods, to thoughts which they care- 
i fully conceal during their lucid hours. Fortunately 
Mrs. Briggs did not hear the remarks, nor has she 
probably ever known, up to this time, that her hus- 
band had any such suspicions of her regard for the 
railroad-conductor. Several other neighbors com- 



180 HOW WATTY BKIGGS DIED. 

ing in, I left the dead man for the time, promising 
to call again in an hour or two, and taking a very 
comical order, meanwhile, to carry to the coffin- 
maker. Two hours after I called again, and found 
no change in the patient, who held his hallucina- 
tion about as before. While sitting by his bed-side, 
this time, and hearing his not-over-reverent specu- 
lations as to what would become of him in his new 
state of existence, on account of his having refused 
to make his appearance among the " mourners " at 
a late meeting, which he seemed to think had most 
probably sealed his spiritual fate, — while we were 
thus engaged the Doctor's sulky drove up, and that 
important person entered. 

The dead man seemed to survey the medical at- 
tendant with very cool speculation in his eyes, but 
did not speak to him. 

"Don't you know him?" asked Mrs. Bn'ggs, ap- 
prehensive that he might be so far gone that he had 
forgotten the physician's face. 

u Know him ? yes, that's the Doctor !" was Wat- 
ty's reply. 

" Are you not glad to see him V was the second 
question, delighted to h'nd that the brain was not 
wandering at all points. Could the answer to the 
question have been foreseen, I do not think it would 
have been asked, for here was instance of unpleasant 
candor ~No. 2. 

" Glad to see him ? No ! He's a devil of a hum- 
bug ! Gave me all kinds of nastiness until he kill- 
ed me. Now, I suppose, it will take just all the 
property I leave to pay his bill I" 

Judging by the redness of the doctor's face, I ap- 
prehend riiat he did not discover the joke of the 
reply, especially as he was not notorious for the 
proportion of cures he accomplished, and was a little 
notorious for the length and weight of his bills ! 



HOW WATTY BRIGGS DIED. 181 

Probably he never had so well-directed a thrust du- 
ring all his professional life. However, he made the 
necessary examinations of the patient, but as he 
could not be induced to swallow a mouthful of any- 
thing, seemed a little disconcerted and a good deal 
puzzled, though a man of unquestionable skill and 
faithfulness. 

I seemed to be at the scene of action in the midst 
of arrivals ; for a heavy wagon rolled up while the 
Doctor was yet sitting in the room, and an elder 
brother of the dead man, who resided at some dis- 
tance and had been sent for when Watty's situation 
began to be considered dangerous, — came in with 
his wife and daughters. 

" Here is Joseph, Watty," said Mrs. Briggs, 
bringing him up to the bedside, " Brother Joseph — 
don't you know him?" 

" Know him?" said Watty Briggs, looking at him 
as contemptuously as if he had been speaking in 
our own times and asked to strike hands with Floyd 
or Wigfall — " Know him? 1 should think I did! 
He managed to pull the wool over the eyes of the 
old man and cheat me out of my share of the pro- 
perty ! Yes, I know all about him!" 

The deadly character of this shot, which consti- 
tuted specimen of unpleasant candor No. 3, may 
be judged from the fact that the elder Briggs had 
died not many months before, the possessor of a 
handsome property, as everybody supposed, but a 
one-sided will leaving Joseph nearly all of it, and 
the other sons only a pittance each. Everyone 
believed that undue means had been used by the 
elder son to induce the formation of such a will, 
but probably not an unpleasant word had been 
spoken in reference to it by the younger, until that 
revelation of real feeling through the veil of mad- 
ness. After that, however, I have an impression 



182 HOW WATTY BEIGGS DIED. 

that Joseph Briggs always understood the private 
opinion borne of him by his brother, and that he 
feared him accordingly. 

In this crisis of affairs I once more left the house, 
and did not return to it that evening. I heard from 
Briggs early in the morning — that he kept his hal- 
lucination unbroken, took no nourishment nor medi- 
cine, and was gradually sinking. The Doctor believ- 
ed that he would die in a few hours from this ac- 
tion of the brain, unless some means could be found 
to break the charm ; and neither he nor any of the 
friends seemed to have any power to get the mono- 
maniac to sleep, or to persuade him that he was yet 
in living condition. Argument, entreaty, ridicule — 
all had been tried, and all to no effect, and the case 
was really growing hopeless. 

At this interesting stage of the proceedings at 
Briggs', a new actor made his appearance on the 
scene. 

Squire Horton, an influential resident of Edge- 
wood, and a very intimate friend of Watty Briggs, 
had been absent from home for some days, and only 
returned on the night which followed the conversa- 
tion I have recorded. He was a man of strong 
common-sense and much joviality of disposition, as 
had already have been demonstrated in many 
instances in the neighborhood. I saw him, 
early in the morning informed him of the precar- 
ious state in which Briggs was lying, and asked him 
if he knew enough of his friend's habit of mind to 
be able to trace out any plan for breaking the illu- 
sion which was killing the victim without any real 
aid from disease. 

"Humph!" said the old Squire, after getting a 
full relation of Briggs' proceedings. " Humph i 
I don't know what can be done : something must be 



HOW WATTY BRIGGS DIED. 183 

done — that is clear! Let us go up and see how he 
is getting along." 

We accordingly went to the house, where, except 
that the patient was weaker, there had been no 
change since the preceding afternoon. Briggs still 
had his eyes open, knew every person who enter- 
ed, and had the power of motion. He was just as 
" dead " as the day before, however. The doctor 
had almost given him over, his family had grown 
so hopeless that they did little else than furtively 
watch what they supposed to be the death bed, and 
cry in odd corners. 

We entered the sick-room, Squire Horron ahead, 
and I watciied very closely to see what he would 
do, aware that all would depend upon his striking 
the clue at once, if at all. The old Squire nodded 
to the family, said, " How-de-do, Briggs?" and then 
began to " Sniff! sniff! sniff!" as if scenting some- 
thing terribly unpleasant. 

" Why, what is the matter, Squire Horton ?" said 
the dead man, who recognized him at once. "Smell 
anything ?" 

"Smell anything? I should think I did!" said 
the Squire, going to one of the windows and throw- 
ing it open. " Why Mrs. Briggs, how can you live 
in this room with the windows down ?" 

" /don't smell anything" — said the dead man — 
" I mean they don't smell anything — Pm dead !" 

" Oh, I know that," said the Squire. " That is 
exactly what is the matter. You are dead, and 
you ought to have been buried before ! You smell 
terribly !" 

" I smell ? If I?" murmured the patient, who 
had not before seen the thing in that light, and evi- 
dently did not like it when he saw it. 

" You smell ? of course !" said the Squire, " Every 
dead body smells after so many hours, and you 



184 HOW WATTY BKIGGS DIED. 

ought to have been in the coffin and under ground 
yesterday. Has the coffin come, Mrs. Briggs ?" 

But Mrs. Briggs did not hear. Entirely over- 
come by what she considered the last cruelty to her 
poor dying husband, the wife had fled the room, un- 
certain what to do, and once more in tears. 

. " Well, if the coffin has not come, we must see 
about it !" said the Squire. " We can't have men 
left rotten above ground in this way I" and he in- 
dulged in another " Sniff! sniff! sniff!" 

"Squire Horton," said the dead man, changing 
his position decidedly, for the first time in forty- 
eight hours, and half-rising on his elbow — " Squire 
Horton, I don't believe one word you say ! I donH 
smell, I know I don't !" 

" Pooh ! pooh !" said the Squire, " You're dead 
— what the deuce could you know about it! You 
stav here, M , and see that they keep the win- 
dows up, while I go out and hurry one of the men 
after a coffin !" and out of doors went the Squire, 
as if fully intent on his errand. 

Poor Briggs! — I looked at his face as the Squire 
went out, and saw that he was sadly troubled — 
that the chain had been struck, to some extent, 
even if not effectually. He could agree to be dead, 
and insist upon being dead, but the idea of smell- 
ing so that the windows required to be raised — 
paugh ! 

Squire Horton had gone out of the back door, 
and i went to the bacK window to watch him. • I 
saw him standing by the watering-trough of the 
well, his face screwed into a very comical expres- 
sion, and for a moment I did not know what lie 
could be doing. Directly, however, I saw his mo- 
tion, though I could not understand his purpose. It 
was, as 1 have said, late in November, and the 
watering- trough for the horses had been skimmed 



HOW WATTY BRIGGS DIED. 185 

with ice all the morning. The water, of course, 
was at a fine Arctic temperature for bathing. Into 
the trough the Squire had thrust his right Land to 
the wrist, and was holding it there, letting it chill 
thoroughly, while the absorption of that quantity of 
cold was causing*his face to make the queer grim- 
aces I had noticed. 

After standing there for perhaps five minutes, he 
turned and entered the house. Merely winking his 
e}*e to me, he went up to the bed where Briggs lay, 
and pretended to arrange the clothes. Instantly, 
however, I saw him dart his right hand under the 
clothes, inside of the bed, and in about half a second 
more I knew that it had effected a lodgement some- 
where about the most sensitive parts of the dead 
man's body. 

" Ough !. ough ! ough ! o-o-ough !" yelled poor 
Briggs, as that lump of human ice touched his warm 
body, and as it fastened closer to him he writhed 
and yelled on, and finally sat bolt upright in bed, 
spite of his weakness. All the members of the fam- 
ily heard the yell, of course, and all ran in, expect- 
ing to find the poor man dying in convulsions. 

""Well, what is the matter?" coolly said the 
Squire, withdrawing his hand, and looking as if he 
was the party outraged, if any one. 

" Matter ? — Squire Horton ! — thunder !" gasped 
the dead man — " you are freezing me ! Why your 
hand is like ice !" 

u How do you know ?" calmly asked the Squire. 

" Know ? why, I feel it !" said the monomaniac. 
" Ugh !" ugh !" 

" Ha ! ha ! well, that is a good joke !" laughed the 
Squire. " You, a dead man, feel my hand ! Come, 
now, that is too much ! We can't believe that, you 
know ! Lie down like a good fellow, and be dead, 
and wait till the coffin comes !" 



186 HOW WATTY BKIGGS DIED. 

" What does lie say ?" said the invalid, clapping 
both hands to his head, and seeming to be wrestling 
with some mighty thought. " Cold hand — couldn't 
feel it if I was dead — did feel it — why, I am not 
dead after all ! No ! Squire Horton, come and 
shake hands with me ! — Mary, ccmie and kiss me ! 
— and some of you shut down that window. What 
a fool I have been ! I am not dead, after all !" 

The scene which followed may well be imagined. 
I have no intention of trying to describe it. Half 
an hour after, the tension removed from the brain, a 
little nourishment administered, and then a gentle 
opiate, — Watty Briggs lay sleeping quietly, and 
saved. A week afterwards he was walking over his 
grounds, his face baldly scarred with erysipelas, but 
a well man. That he was not before that time in 
his grave, and as rotten in reality as his droll friend 
had pretended, I believe was not in any degree ow- 
ing to the efforts of the Doctor, but to the practical 
demonstrations of his vitality so oddly given by 
Squire Rorton. 




XX. 

STARVA TIOJSF BY RAILROAD. 

My friend Brown travels occasionally, and semi 
occasionally. His carpet-bag may be seen (a small 
carpet-bag it is, and holds little more than a change 
of linen, a book or two and a tooth-brush) — at any 
time and in any place between the St. Lawrence and 
the Gulf of Mexico ; and his traveling-cap is coated 
and re-coated with deposits of dust blown from every 
sand-hill and clay-bank between the Atlantic and 
the Rocky Mountains. Brown travels for the ex- 
citement of the thing, as well as from some occa- 
sional suspicions of business in one place and an- 
other, which just furnish him a sufficient excuse for 
what he calls "taking a short run," that "short 
run " ranging from a hundred miles to two or three 
thousand. Merry and a little waggish is Brown, as 
the conductors and brakemen on many roads, and 
the steamboat clerks on many rivers, can testify. If 
you look at the book he is reading in the cars, you 
will not often find anything more abstruse than 
" Verdant Green " or some one of Peterson's " Hu- 
morous Library ;" and when he takes cold from the 
improper opening of a car window on the back of 
his neck, he holds that a hearty laugh will always 
shake the cobwebs from his throat. Brown is al- 
ways just in advance of all the accidents — half a 



188 STARVATION BY EAILBOAD. 

dozen steamboats having exploded and a dozen or 
two of railroad trains having come into collision or 
run off the track the day after he had passed over 
the line, and no catastrophe ever occurring to his 
own particular train or steamboat. Such is Brown 
— now for Jones. 

My other friend Jones very seldom goes out of 
the city. He is a book-keeper in a down-town office, 
very devoted to his business, and with a snug penny 
laid by in unimpeachable stocks against that " rainy 
day " which he has always been expecting and 
which has never come. A trip to Boston by way 
of the Sound, and a run down once or twice in a 
summer to some of the sea side watering-places, 
comprise pretty nearly all of his absences during a 
round dozen years. Fond of the good things of this 
life is Jones, and a free, not to say an inordinate 
eater. If he has a horror, it is of being deprived of 
his "three meals a day," besides occasional lunches 
which he dodges round the corner to get, or carries 
from home in the morning, wrapped up in a piece 
of white paper, under the guardian care of Mrs. 
Jones. 

A few months ago, before travel between this 
city and Washington began to have the charm of 
danger and consequent excitement — before Balti- 
more hoisted a secession flag or General Butler was 
heard of outside of Massachusetts, Jones having suf- 
fered for a month with nervous head-ache, induced 
by too close attendance to his columns of figures, — 
Jones contemplated taking two or three days' recre- 
ation. At this time his evil fortune favored him 
with a call from Brown, who had been uncommonly 
quiet in the city for a week. Jones mentioned his 
intended exodus, but was doubtful whither he 
should go. Brown considered for a moment, and 
then suggested that he (Brown) was going to Wasb 



STARVATION BY RAILROAD. 189 

mgton two days after, and enquired whether Jones 
had ever seen the " National Bear Garden ?" Jones 
nad never seen the " National Bear Garden." Why 
should not Jones go to Washington with him, by 
way of Philadelphia, unless he (Jones) had been 
frightened off by the then current exposure of the 
terrible dangers haunting the passage of Big and 
Little Gunpowder Creeks, &c, (not consequent upon 
the bridges being burned — that was an after event; 
— but upon their supposed likelihood to tumble 
down from instability.) Jones had not been fright- 
ened by any such exposure, and had his doubts 
whether the whole statement was not a humbug. 
He knew Smith, who had been over the road within 
a week, and who said that the people did not creep 
fearfully out on the platforms while crossing, and 
that the trains were not in the habit of tumbling off 
into the river. Would Jones go, then ? Jones still 
hesitated. Why? Subsequent enquiry on the part 
of Brown established the fact that Jones was anx- 
ious on account of his diet. He had heard that the 
opportunities for dining on these routes were very 
bad — going without food for too long a time made 
him dyspeptic and gave him the headache still 

worse, and . . Brown stopped him short by the 

assurance that if he would go, he (Brown,) being an 
old traveler, would take care that he (Jones) should 
not suffer in that particular. So urged, Jones con- 
sented to trust himself to the tender mercies of the 
railroads. 

Brown and Jones were to go by way of the Cam- 
den and Amboy, leaving at six o'clock in the 
morning, an hour inducing chilliness and objections 
to an empty stomach. Coming down by the cars to 
the Astor House from their separate boarding places 
in Bleecker and Houston, and walking thence down 
to the Battery — Brown, who had resolved religiously 



190 STARVATION BY RAILROAD. 

to keep his promise to Jones, and on no account per- 
mit him to starve, — Brown suggested to Jones that 
although he, (Brown) through the kindness of. bis 
landlady, who had risen very early, had had an early 
breakfast consisting of a round of toast, half a dozen 
eggs, and a cup of coffee — he (Jones) had probably 
had no breakfast? None, Jones answered. Brown 
thereupon suggested that Jones had better patronize 
one of the al fresco coffee- and-cake saloons in the 
neighborhood, while he, Brown, would smoke a ma- 
tutinal cigar. Brown took the hint and invested in 
a cup of strong coffee thereat, three hard boiled 
eggs, a modicum of corned beef, and two plates of 
greasy butter-cakes. 

Half an hour after starting, the breakfast-bell 
rang on board the Belknap — very much, apparent- 
ly, to Brown's surprise, who declared to Jones that 
he never before heard of such a thing as their hav- 
ing breakfast on board the Camden and Amboy 
boats. However, if Jones would go along, he did 
not care if he himself went down to the breakfast 
table and " took a bite." It was well, he gravely 
remarked, to eat whenever one had a chance, in 
railroad traveling, as half the time nothing could be 
got, below. Jones assented, and they went down. 
There Brown trifled with an omelette and a roll, 
and imbibed a couple of cups of very good coffee, 
while he succeeded in loading Jones with six inches 
square of tough steak, a few fried eggs, some slices 
of cold tongue, rolls, a leg of fried chicken, coffee, 
etc. Jones expressed himself as k 'full," w T hile Brown 
remarked that he wouldn't be, .before he reached 
Philadelphia. Half way between Amboy and Bpr- 
dentown, Brown purchased a dozen oranges and a 
large paper of burnt almonds, half of which he 
managed to make Jones consume, while he smug- 
gled the remainder into his own carpet-bag. to be 



STARVATION BY RAILROAD. 191 

fiven away to the first family of obstreporons cbil- 
ren he might happen to meet. 
By the time they reached Philadelphia the ride 
had so much consolidated Jones' food, that he was 
easily persuaded to believe himself hungry, especi- 
ally under Brown's occasional reminder of the lack of 
eatables on the southern end of the route. A blend- 
ing of boiled fish, roast beef, and half of one of the 
plum pies for which Bloodgood's is so famous, was 
dexterously engineered under Jones' waistcoat by 
Brown, who took care th'at his plate should be per- 
sistently supplied with tit-bits during the whole 
half hour of sitting. Jones looked a little plethoric 
and showed incipient symptoms of asphyxia, as 
they took the carriage for the Baltimore depot ; but 
these passed away in half an hour. Fifteen minutes 
were allowed at Wilmington for "refreshments," 
and these Brown improved to remind Jones that it 
would be late when they reached Washington, and 
that at the crossing of the Susquehanna there was 
always such a crowd as to make obtaining a mouth- 
ful a matter of difficulty, besides the probability 
that the Marvellous Woman of the Susquehanna 
might snap off the head of any unlucky passenger 
who chanced to ask for food without tendering pay- 
ment in advance. lie was rewarded by seeiug 
Jones bolt a sandwich, two hard-boiled eggs and 
three doughnuts, and liquify them with a tumbler 
of milk. At Havre de Grace the crowd was not so 
great as Brown had anticipated, and the friends did 
succeed in securing a place at the table while the 
boat was crossing, in spite of the old woman's at- 
tempts to prevent their finding anything to eat. 
Brown felt it necessary, here, to eat ravenously, and 
did so without much difficulty, having fared lightly 
during the day. Under this incitement Jones came 
up manfully, being assured by Brown that this was 



19 3 STARVATION BY RAILROAD. 

the last chance before reaching Washington — and 
two hike-warm oyster stews, a side of chicken, a 
few slices of bread, and pies, with coffee, went down 
before his determined attack. 

This last feather had broken the camel's back. 
Jones fell back npon his seat in a state of partial 
stupefaction, as the train rolled away from Havre 
de Grace — his eyes protruding, his face surcharged 
with blood, and serious symptoms of apoplexy. Not 
even the change of cars at Baltimore could arouse 
him to eating one of the half dozen oranges which 
Brown then and there .bought and pressed upon 
him. Jones declined supper at his hotel that night, 
and two days of danger of brain-fever on his part, 
with a doctor's bill to pay and tw r o days of nursing 
on the part of Brown, made up the sequel of the 
affair. It is not believed that Jones will hereafter, 
travel he where and when he may, take any extra- 
ordinary precaution against railroad starvation, or 
that Brown, if they again travel in company, will 
again take the same amount of pains to stuff Jones 
into asphyxia. 

Meanwhile my very good friend, and the most 
popular of travelling-managers, Captain Simpson, 
who commands the Camden and Amboy railroad 
boat, must be careful how he supplies too plentiful 
breakfasts and thereby add to the temptations of 
the travelling Joneses. 



XXL 

TWO BIG SHOTS AT WILD-FOWL. 

There were, in the time of my sojourn in the 
classic neighborhood of Bushy Hollow, twenty 
years ago, any quantity of sporting characters, 
thereabout, and almost every man kept his gun in 
his house, ready l<»aded for game. Every mechanic, 
too, kept a loaded gun in his shop, ready for a 
chance shot at wild fowl, bird, squirrel or rabbit. 
Let me record two of the most effectual shots made 
—one by each of two residents of the section. 

Of the two parties, both were very respectable 
men, and both past middle age, but with enough 
of the glow of youth still in them to make them 
fond of a good joke and able to chuckle very good- 
huinoredly over it when fully accomplished. One 
was a hatter, grave and precise in his personal ap- 
pearance, thin and lank as Shakspeare's " ribbed 
sea-sand," and the last man in the world whom one 
who did not know him would ever have suspected 
of a " sell." The other was a laboring man, short, 
chunky, and jolly in face and figure, as droll outside 
as the first was grave, and fully keeping up the 
character internally. 

I had observed, one day, that Tom Bobbins, a 
rather good-for-nothing neighbor of mine, had been 
manufacturing a lot of decoy ducks, or " stools," as, 

9 



194 TWO BIG SHOTS AT WILD-FOWL. 

they were called, which the uninitiated only will need 
to be told are exact imitations in shape and size of the 
various kinds of wild ducks, painted in a rough re- 
semblance to the bird, and capable of deceiving a 
flock at a distance into the belief that one of their 
own kind is on the ground or the water, as the case * 
may be. I had seen Bobbins on a scaffold adjoin- 
ing his house, painting the " stools" aforesaid, and 
in the afternoon he put them on the edge of the flat 
roof of his house to dry in the sun. 

Early in the morning — in fact before it was fairly 
light, Burns, the laboring man, happened to be com- 
ing up the street, just? by Bird, the hatter's, and 
very near Bobbins'. Bird was just coming out of 
his door as Burns came by, and they stopped to say 
good morning. 

Suddenly Bird looked up towards Bobbins', and 
in ad e an espial. "Why, look!" lie said to Burns, 
in a half-whisper, " only look ! If there has not 
settled a whole covey of ducks on the eaves of Tom 
Bobbins' house !" 

" So there has !" said Burns, without a thought 
that ducks were not supposed to be in the habit of 
alighting on the roofs of houses — "So there has! 
By gracious, what a shot, though, if I only had my 
gun !" 

" Take mine," said Bird, very kindly, " she stands 
just behind the door, and by good luck loaded with 
duck shot. I have plenty of poultry, and don't 
need them. Take her and bang away." 

" You are very kind," said Burns, "I will." And 
he stepped in, took the old king's-piece and let fly 
into the thick of them. Not a wing was raised ; 
not a duck stirred. " What in thunder can it mean ?" 
said Burns, " that not one of them stirs !" 

"Mean?" said Bird, with a roguish twinkle of 
the eye, " why you have killed every one of them 



TWO BIG SHOTS AT WILD-FOWL. 195 

60 dead that they have not had time to stir. An 
excellent shot, Burns, certainly." 

" Y-a-a-a-s," said Burns, who somehow began to 
think that there was something a little out of order 
in the affair. But at that moment, Bobbins, who 
had been a bed in an upper chamber very near the 
eaves of his house, opened the door in a wondrous 
hurry, and about halt*6cared to death. He saw that 
Burns had a gun, and burst out with — 

"Why, was that you, Burns? What the Old 
Harry do you mean by shooting at a man's house 
in this manner ? The shot came rattling against the 
side of my chamber rather too thick for comfort, 
and one of them broke my window. What have 
you been shooting at ?" 

" Ducks," said Bird ; but Burns didn't say any- 
thing. 

" Ducks where ?" said Bobbins, with a look at 
the top of his house. 

" Why, up there on the eaves," said Bird, still 
managing to keep the laugh back. " He seems 
to have killed the entire flock." 

" Ducks, thunder !" said Bobbins, between a laugh 
and an oath. " Them's my stool ducks, put out to 
dry. You have done it !" 

"Possible?" said Bird. 

"Possible!" said Burns; " yes, and- you knew 
it, you old humbug! Never mind; I'll pay you 
for it, some day." 

Burns paid, if I remember correctly, some three 
dollars for the damage done by his shot, while Bird 
went off home, his long lean frame shaken by a 
eonvul&ive chuckle, and his thin, sober face screwed 
up to the nearest similitude to a laugh of which it 
was capable. After the adventure, Burns did not 
show himself for a week. When he did, he took a 



196 TWO BIG SHOTS AT WILD-FOWL. 

public roasting that was worse to bear than the ex- 
pense of paying for Tom Bobbins' stool-ducks. 

Two or three years passed away, and Burns had 
never had any opportunity for repaying Bird for 
his trick. They were excellent friends, and Burns 
took the occasional quizzing which Bird gave him 
on the subject, with the air of one who should say, 
a Well, you are too smart for me, and I give it up." 
But he had not forgotten it, and the opportunity 
for payment came. 

One day Burns happened to pass the head of 
"Wilson's Pond," a saw-mill pond in the neighbor- 
hood, within a quarter of a mile of the village ; and 
he observed that Wilson had brought home with 
him from a trip to the southward, two very line 
specimens of the tamed wild goose — a valuable aid 
for the goose-hunter, obtained by breaking the 
wing of a young goose from a flock, and after heal- 
ing up his hurt, clipping just so much of the end of 
the wing as to prevent his flying away. After a 
year of training, they will learn to perform their 
part to perfection, and seem to take delight in de- 
coying others of their wild brethren down within 
reach of the gun of the hunter; though the fact is, 
no doubt, that they are merely calling for company, 
in their native language. 

Wilson had procured these, and put them into 
his pond, as the fall was coming on, to nest there, 
and be ready for decoying any flocks that might 
pass, within reach of his gun, which had a bad 
habit of being stuck out from a loop-hole in his 
saw-mill. 

Burns knew all this at a glance, and a very 
wicked but quite as natural desire to take revenge 
on Bird for the duck business, took possession of 
him. lie knew that it would not do to attempt 
selling Bird himself, as the fact of the latter's trick 



TWO BIG SHOTS AT WILD-FOWL. 197 

upon him would make him suspicious of any sug- 
gestions in regard to wild fowl, in which he should 
appear. So he commissioned little Pete Dickson, 
a half-foolish and half-cunning fellow,. who did half 
the errands of the town, with a promise of a dozen 
big apples, to run in a great hurry and half out of 
breath, and inform Mr. Bird that a lot of geese had 
just lit in Wilson's mill-pond. 

Pete did his errand properly, and Bird took the 
bait, while Burns ensconced himself snugly in the 
mill, and looked out of the loop-hole. 

Bird was very fond of wild fowl, and he seized 
his gun in a hurry and sloped for the scene of action. 
Pie hurried through the woods until he came very 
near the pond, when he began skulking after the 
manner of the most approved of deer stalkers or 
goose hunters ; his long thin form half bent, dodg- 
ing behind trees so as to approach the prey with- 
out disturbing it. Pete was close behind him with 
finger in mouth, and snickering under his breath. 

At length, through the trees, he had a view of 
them. There they were, prime old fellows, and one 
of them " honking " most beautifully. Bird took a 
few steps, so as to bring them- both in range — they 
seemed entirely undisturbed — and then he ki blazed 
away." A better shot is seldom made ; one of the 
pair " keeled over " at once, and the other, with 
wings broken and several shot in the body, tried to 
dive, and then lay helpless on the water. 

Bird looked around for the punt, (a small boat) to 
get them, and as he did so, Burns accidentally came 
up the walk through the woods towards him. 

"Why, what the Old Scratch have you been do- 
ing, Bird?" he said, as he saw the havoc, 4 * Is it pos- 
sible that you have been shooting Wilson's stool- 
geese ?" 

" Stool-geese !" gasped Bird, " you don't mean to 



198 TWO BIG SHOTS AT WILD-FOWL. 

say that they're Wilson's. Why that cuss!" — and 
he pointed to Pete, wh<>, half on a grin and half 
scared to death, stood with his ringer in his mouth, 
behind him — " that cuss came running and told me 
there were some wild geese just Ht in the pond." 

" Y-a-as! well," said Burns, "he did not know- 
any better, I s'pose. Poor Pete, you know, hain't 
got them all. But you've done it beautifully. This 
is worse than shooting wooden ducks !" 

"John Burns!" said Bird, turning around and 
lifting his gun by the muzzle as if to strike with the 
butt, " you sent that snickering fool, I know you 
did. I've a great mind to brain you, as I ever had 
to kill a rabbit." 

" Don't do it," said Burns, dodging, though with- 
out much idea that Bird would strike. "You don't 
think I would do such a thing ! If they had been 
wooden ones, now, the case might have been differ- 
ent ; but I couldn't think of having you hurt real 
ones, you know !" 

Bird looked round at him again, and had another 
propensity to strike with the gun, but he didn't. 
He put the gun on his shoulder without another 
word to his persecutor, and struck a bee-line for Wil- 
son's house, about a quarter of a mile distant, walked 
into the wagon-house where he was at work, pulled 
out ten dollars and paid him, and left without any 
explanation. Wilson did not know what it meant, 
but he discovered a little while after, when he went 
to the mill-pond. 

Bird did not feel very friendly towards Burns for a 
few weeks, but the laugh was on him, and he found 
it the best policy to take it easily, especially as he 
had played the first trick. So he smoothed it over, 
and squared the account for the amount to which 
Burns had out-tricked him, by cheating him abomi- 
nably in his hats for ten years afterwards, as Burns 



TWO BIG SHOTS AT WILD-FOWL. 199 

avers to this day. But neither of them, to the best 
of my knowledge and belief, though they may oc- 
casionally have tried duck and goose-hunting on 
more certain grounds, — ever took another shot at 
wild-fowl without having fair assurance whether it 
was wooden or a too costly description of the real 
article. 




DEACON JONES' MINCE-PIES. 

Brown and I were strolling down one of the ave- 
nues one night, a little late, when one of the most 
remarkable coincidences occurred that I ever re- 
member to have seen noticed. Brown, in the midst 
of a highly interesting conversation, (to me, at least), 
stopped suddenly, clapped his hand to that part of 
his waistcoat under which the stomach is supposed 
to be located, and uttered the single exclamation : 

I am hungry !" I made a rapid examination of 
ny own feelings, and in an instant, without clap- 
ping my hand on the waistcoat at all, was enabled 
to reply : " So am I !" This was the coincidence. 

I found, directly after, that the feeling had prob- 
ably been induced in both of us, from the sudden 
flashing of a couple of large restaurant-lights across 
the pavement. The light was no doubt electrical. 
Barker, who kept the restaurant, was and is notori- 
ous for the quality of his mince-pies. Mince-pies 
are the most scandalously unhealthy food known to 
humanity, especially for eating late at night. There- 
fore, Brown and I went into Barker's fully resolved 
upon eating mince-pies. Barker was behind the 
counter himself, and never were seen such pies as 
those he lugged out from their retirement for our 
special editi cation. Crisp, flaky-looking crust, with 



MINCE-PIES. 201 

here and there a moist-looking spot through which 
the unctuous rjchngss had oozed in baking, then 
partially dried and left a deposit as rich as that allu- 
vial one supposed to be periodically left by the Nile 
when it ebbs away. Within, and between the 
crusts, a dark-brown mass of finely-chopped meat 
and pulpy apples, with here and there a raisin 
swollen almost to bursting, and little specks of pun- 
gent black currants. Below, the crust thin and 
flaky, but sodden with rich juice ; and all the pastry 
part of the manufacture the nearest possible imita- 
tion of those astonishing pates de foie gras for 
which the truffles w r ere furnished by demon hands, 
the dough rolled out by a witch with her broom- 
stick, and in the purchase of which wonderful edible 
the Count de Perigord, of the old legend, disposed 
of whatever small amount of soul he had about him. 

But the flavor — ah ! there was the charm ! Ima- 
gine all the subtle aromas and essences of all the 
delicious edibles of a century, concentrated so that 
they could be enclosed in an ordinary pie-pan, and 
there we had them. Imagine all the foams and 
sparkles that have ever bubbled on the brims' of 
beakers, since Hebe held up the goblet of nectar 
for Jupiter — imagine them all, their exquisite' fruity 
flavors compressed to a few drops, and all employed 
in adding delicious pungency to a mouthful ! 

Humph! what is all this ? 1 have been growing 
maudlinly eloquent over Barker's mince- pies, and 
not a gratuitous mince-pie have I had from Barker 
to make up for the outlay of mentality and con- 
science! The long and short of it is, that Brown 
and myself ate three pieces of pie each, and that one 
of us certainly, and both. of us probably, dreamed 
that night of having eaten a cord of stone-fence, or 
having one foot planted in our stomachs of those 
four elephants who, according to one of the orien- 
9* 



202 



tal theologies, support the whole world on their 
broad backs But the pie had an effect before this. 
Brown smoked a black Manilla cheroot after this 
late lunch, and sat very near the stove meanwhile. 
The result was that when he got up to leave the re- 
staurant, he was as tipsy as he should have been 
after two bottles ; while I r who had not joined in 
the segar, merely felt as if a hive of bees had been 
swarming in my head. 

" Why, confound that cheroot !" said Brown, 
when we had reached the street and the cool air re- 
vived him a little. " There must be opium in that 
tobacco. If I did not know better, I should say 
that I was drunk." 

" And so you are — and so am I, a little I" I said. 

" Why, you didn't smoke at all ?" suggested 
Brown. 

" No, but I ate three pieces of Barker's mince- 
pie," I replied, " and if you knew as much about 
that mixture as I do, you would know that each is 
about equal to a bumper of brandy or two glasses 
of old port !" 

** Pshaw!" said Brown, " do you repeat that old 
nonsensical idea that any one can get drunk on 
mince-pies? In the first, place, there is very little 
liquor put into them ; in the next place, what little 
they contain is evaporated in cooking; and in the 
third place — " 

" In the third place, they act on the head very 
much as if there was plenty of liquor in them after 
all !" I interrupted. " Now, Brown, keep still, and 
walk as straight as you can, while I tell you a story 
about mince pies." 

The story I told Brown is the one which follows 
— the dramatis personae being persons well known 
and still living, and the incident an actual one 
which occurred within the circle of my own ac- 



deacon Jones' mince-pies. 203 

quaintance, and not many miles from the great 
city. 

Deacon Jones was a very good sort of man. He 
had a fine house, elegantly located on the bank of 
one of the prettiest rivers in America ; kept good 
horses ; gave excellent dinners ; had a bevy of hand- 
some girls, as plump as partridges and as gay as 
larks ; was exceedingly hospitable, and welcomed 
every visitor as if he had no other business in the 
world than to keep a caravanseria arranged for the 
accommodation of traveling people. Especially to 
ministers who might happen to be in the neighbor- 
hood, was Deacon Jones' a haven of refuge ; and 
nowhere in the world could they find a more plen- 
tiful table, or sleep in softer beds, or find better at- 
tendance than there. 

Mrs. Deacon Jones is not to be passed over, in 
remarks about the character of the Deacon. Deacon 
Jones was no more perfect without her, than Mrs. 
Deacon Jones without him, or one half a pair of 
scissors without the other. Deacon Jones was rubi- 
cund and jolly ; Mrs. Deacon Jones was ditto. 
Deacon Jones was very fond of good living ; Mrs. 
Deacon Jones was as fond of helping to eat the 
good things she made, as she was of making them. 
Deacon Jones was very susceptible to the name of 
being hospitable; Mrs. Deacon Jones was equally 
susceptible; and so on to the end of the chapter. 

A few years ago — a few years ago was a period 
of time so like the present, that no perceptible 
change has taken place within that time in any 
member of the Jones family. The Deacon has per- 
haps a few more streaks of gray among his well- 
trimmed whiskers, and perhaps Mrs. Deacon Jones 
has one or two more showy bows on her dress cap, 
and some of the Misses Jones are married, and some 



204 



more of them going to be. But there is no change 
worth noting in the family. 

Well, a few years ago the Reverend Hezekiah 
Smith was about to spend a few days in the neigh- 
borhood ot Deacon Jones', and contemplated mak- 
ing his home there for the time. Great preparations 
in the way of roast meats, doughnuts, mince-pies, 
etc., were made by Mrs. Deacon Jones and her 
pretty daughters, with the assistance of Nancy, the 
servant girl ; so that when the reverend gentleman 
arrived, everything was in u apple-pie order," to use 
a favorite expression in the neighborhood, for the 
reception of the Domine and any friends who might 
happen to call in to see him during his stay. Mrs. 
Deacon Jones had never been more succcessful in 
her baking. Her pies were like a Seville orange, 
"rich, agreeable and juicy." Her doughnuts were 
puffed up to the degree that there was great danger 
of their bursting, and her roast meats were such as 
might have tempted a greater anchorite than Friar 
Tuck to forget the vow of abstinence over his parch- 
ed peas. 

Deacon Jones' family and a fixins " were all read}', 
and the Reverend Hezekiah Smith duly arrived. 
There was the usual quantity of warm welcome, the 
usual number of hand-shakings, and the requisite 
quantity of kisses bestowed upon the cheeks of the 
aforesaid Misses Jones. All was as cozy and com- 
fortable as possible, and the Deacon was as happy 
as could well be imagined. The time wore on, and 
the Deacon and the Reverend Hezekiah were sum- 
moned from their comfortable place at the lire, to 
dinner. And such a dinner as it was ! A superb 
turkey at ona end of the table, a noble baron of 
beet' at the other, bread of snowy whiteness, butter 
that only Mrs. Deacon Jones could make. And 
then the pies. 



MINCE-PIES. 205 

Such mince-pies as those of Mrs. Deacon Jones, 
are not to be found eveiy day by those who do not 
know on what avenue Barker's is located ; and the 
way in which the Reverend Hezekiah disprsed of 
three large pieces, was only to be paralleled by the 
manner in which Deacon Jones himself disposed of 
five, and Mrs. Deacon Jones and the Misses Jones 
respectively of two or three apiece ; everybody 
smacking their lips over the last particle, and de- 
claring that such flavor, such spicy juiciness, never 
had been known before. To be sure, they were a 
little strong, but that was no doubt partly the effect 
of the exceedingly hard cider, which was always 
employed as an ingredient in that section, and par- 
tially of -the liberal allowance of allspice, cinnamon 
and nutmeg, with which the good lady had flavored 
them. 

Soon the gentlemen retired to the parlor, and the 
ladies busied themselves about the clearing of the 
table and other household duties. The Reverend 
Hezekiah and Deacon Jones took seats by the stove, 
and putting their feet as near the mantel as possi- 
ble, began to discuss affairs generally. To the sur- 
prise of the Domine, the Deacon began to talk thick 
in a few minutes, and in a few minutes more he did 
not talk, he merely gabbled, and his eyes had a 
rather queer appearance. In a little while longer 
he let his head fall unsteadily over against the table, 
and was fast asleep, with a snore that would not 
have disgraced any bar-room in the banner ward of 
corner groceries. 

u Well, I never !" said the Reverend Hezekiah, to 
himself. " Certainly, I never! If I did not know 
the character of Deacon Jones so well, I would 
make affidavit the man was drunk ! Deacon ! I say, 
Deacon, wake up here ! Deacon, what's — hie — 
what's the matter? — hie — bless my soul, I never felt 



206 



so queer in all my life ! Heigho !" and he yawn- 
ed. u I feel as if I really wanted to go to sleep 
myself. But I am — hie — really alarmed for the 
Deacon. Mrs. Jones !" and he got up and went 
very unsteadily to the door and opened it. 

Stretched out on a chair, with mouth open, and in 
a very disturbed and uneasy slumber, was Mrs. Dea- 
con Jones, with her face as red as a peony, and ev- 
ery indication of a genteel virago who had been on 
a spree. On a bench in the corner, was a juvenile 
Miss Jones, making a very sad attempt to comb her 
hair with a clothes-peg, while the rest of the family 
had disappeared. 

" Bless my soul — hie !" said the Domine, " this is 
most extraordinary. What does it mean ? I should 
say the whole family were drunk — hie — and I too, 
if I did not know better. Heigho ! I may as well go 
to sleep, too. Bless my soul, what does it mean if" 
And the Beverend Hezekiah returned to his chair 
and went to sleep, as cozily as the rest. 

About three hours after, a neighbor coming in on 
business, found the whole family asleep and awoke 
them. Such headaches as were current, were en- 
tirely unaccountable, as well as the sudden imitation 
of drunken slumber which had fallen upon the 
whole family, — until a comparison of notes revealed 
the fatal circumstance. 

Mrs. Deacon Jones, after mixing her mince-pie 
material, had left the jug standing beside it, un- 
corked, and gone our. Young Master Jones coming 
in, had smelt the contents of the jug, found it bran- 
dy, liked brandy in mince pies, and poured in a 
pint or so. Mr. Jones, happening to want the jug, 
to take to the neighboring village and replenish for 
medical purposes, had thrown what" brandy there 
was in it into the compound, supposing that none 
had been put in, — washed the jug and gone off with 



MIN-CE-PIE8. 207 

it. The consequence was, that about a quart of 
brandy had probably been consumed by the family 
in one dinner ! 

Neither the Keverend Hezekiali Smith nor Mrs. 
Deacon Jones, nor yet the Deacon, ever liked, dur- 
ing the balance of my acquaintance with them, to 
he reminded of that particular visit, nor of that par- 
ticular batch of mince-pies. It was said that the 
brandy jug was afterwards kept as carefully from 
the Master Joneses, as if it had been a bottle of cor- 
rosive sublimate or strychnine. And no wonder, 
when it came so near to making a respectable Dea- 
con of the church a drunkard for at least three 
hours, and put a Domine in corresponding peril ! 

Brown was nearly sober by the time I had fin- 
ished my relation ; but he has since expressed his 
intention of prosecuting Barker for selling liquor 
without license, having become a convert to the 
faith that — whether lager-bier will intoxicate or not, 
mince-pies, properly charged with good old brandy, 
will make the clouds around the brain quite as rosy 
as if the fluid was imbibed from a tumbler. 



xxru. 

SURROGATE COOKE'S URGENT REASON. 



Georgia law has long been a proverb, and Jersey 
law sometimes comes but little behind it in the way 
of originality — not to say efficacy. I have some 
doubts, however, whether all the peculiar strings 
necessary to secure the rapid administration of jus- 
tice in the latter State, are quite understood. In 
that belief I shall unravel at least one of the secrets, 
by the knowledge of which some one else may profit 
at no distant day. 

In Jersey, as in most — perhaps all, the States of 
the Union — letters of administration on the estates 
and effects of persons who have died intestate, are 
issued by the County Surrogates. There, at least, 
whatever may be the rule elsewhere, a certain num- 
ber of days after the death are allowed to elapse, in 
favor of the next of kin, before any one else can take 
out such letters. Failing any application on their 
part (which does not often fail) after that lapse of 
time more distant relatives, or those who hold no re- 
lationship to the deceased, if they can give proper 
security, are allowed to secure the letters. 

When the deceased is supposed to have left a con- 
siderable amount of property, the securing of these 
letters is no small object, as the administrator always 
charges, and is allowed by the Orphans' Court 



SURROGATE OOOKe's URGENT REASON. 209 

(which body has tne final settlement of the estate) a 
pretty stiff per centage upon all moneys or repre- 
sentatives of moneys which have passed through his 
hands in the settlement. 

Of course there are plenty of pettifoggers in all 
the country villages, who snuff the carcase of a 
wealthy intestate afar off, and who do not let the 
grass grow under their feet, when the legal delay 
has expired, before they make application on their 
own behalf for the " fat job." 

"Well— all. this by way of preface. Not many 
months ago, Aunt Katie, wealthy spinster, who had 
been living in the family of Jim Doran — suddenly 
shuffled off this mortal coil — leaving, to every one's 
surprise and the grief of half a dozen — no will. 
Twenty -four hours after the death served to establish 
the fact; and Doran intended, as one of the next of 
kin, to make the requisite application the moment 
decency would permit. Less than three days — one 
beyond the funeral — would not very well answer 
for this purpose. 

At the end of three days Doran made his applica- 
tion: letters of administration on the estate of Katie 
Doran, spinster, deceased, had been granted thirty- 
six hours before to Joe Shaffer, pettifogger and gen- 
eral business agent for the whole country — fast, in 
more senses than one. Doran w T as indignant, and 
pointed out the law, or at least the custom, which 
gave the preference to the next of kin. 

Cooke, the Surrogate, was very curt about the 
matter — said he was very sorry to have disappointed 
Doran, but there were urgent reasons why he could 
not do otherwise than grant the letters to Shaffer. 
Doran inquired those "urgent reasons;" Cooke re- 
fused to give them. Doran was impudent, Cooke 
insolent, and the former left with the idea that the 



210 



papers had been granted to Shaffer for the especial 
purpose of keeping them out of his (Doran's) hands. 

Naturally indignant,. Doran told the fact in every 
bar-room and at every public meeting. In a week, 
the story had grown in its proportions, to a state- 
ment that Cooke had refused Doran letters, from a 
knowledge of his general dishonesty. This was the 
feather that broke the camel's back with Doran, 
and he at once entered a caveat against the settle- 
ment of the estates by Shaffer. 

This brought legal proceedings, a few days later, 
in open court, at a time when my usual luck of fall- 
ing in with ridiculous phases of humanity led to my 
being present. Half the sporting men in the county 
seemed also to be present, for some cause or other 
which I could not at first understand ; and a general 
raft of friends and relatives of the deceased spinster 
were also on hand. ISTo other person than Doran 
interposing between Shaffer and his letters, the 
question lay entirely between the two. Cooke, the 
Surrogate, was obliged, under order of the Judge, to 
come on the stand as a witness to the regularity or 
irregularity of the letters. He did not come will- 
ingly. 

"There were urgent reasons, Mr. Surrogate, 
the court understands," said the Judge, "why 
the letters of administration were granted to 
Mr. Shaffer, and were not to Mr. Doran, the next 
of kin?" 

" There were," answered Cooke. 

"You will be good enough to give the court those 
reasons," said the Judge. 

" Can't do it !" said Cooke, after reflecting a mo- 
ment. 

" We insist," said Doran's counsel. 

"The reason must be given," said the Judge, 
gravely. 



SURROGATE COOKE's URGENT REASON. 211 

" Perhaps we may get at the fact by degrees. 
Had yon or had you not any reason to doubt the ca- 
pacity of Mr. Doran, the first claimant?" 

" None in the world !" answered Cooke. 

" His honesty !" urged the Judge. 

" No !" answered Cooke. 

"The legitimacy of his connection with the de- 
ceased ?" 

" Oh no, not at all !" spoke Cooke, rather impa- 
tiently. 

" Then what were the reasons ?" asked the Judge, 
with dignity. 

" Can't give them !" said Cooke, sententiously, but 
looking worried, and shifting his feet about as if he 
would ranch rather have been somewhere else than 
ia the witness-box. 

" Mr. Surrogate," said the Judge, very gravely, 
" the court will be under the disagreeable necessity 
of supposing, if this silence is persisted in, that some 
undue influence was brought to bear upon you by 
Mr. Shaffer, to induce you to grant him the let- 
ters." 

This was too much for Cooke. "Undue influ- 
ence " meant a " bribe," and Cooke knew it : to let 
such an imputation rest upon him was fatal, espe- 
cially against his chances of election next term. 

" The court wants the urgent reasons," he finally 
blurted out, " and the court shall have 'em, though 
it is betraying confidence. I had an Empire colt 
that could just go in 2:32 to harness, and 1 wanted 
the half of four figures, ($500) for him. Nobody 
came up to my mark till Joe Shaffer, and he did, 
the day before he got the letters. The Surrogate of 
this county isn't bribed, but he hasn't quite lost all 
feeling for the man that knows Empire stock and 13 
willing to go the right figure for it !" 



212 SURROGATE COOKe's URGENT REASON. 

I am afraid that court was not the most dignified 
body in the world for the next five minutes. Doran 
got his letters, and Shaffer lost them. But every- 
body understands, since, the right string to pull 
with Cooke, when after letters of administration in 
a hurry ! 




XXIV. 

THE SWINDLE ON POSTMASTER FOWLER. 

Several years ago, when Ike Fowler was Post- 
master of this city, gay, blythe and debonnair, 
boarding at the New York Hotel, with no prevision 
in his mind of the day when he would be com- 
pelled suddenly to evacuate his comfortable quar- 
ters and leave In's fashionable acquaintances, for a 
doubtful life in Cuba and Mexico, — at that time, I 
say, when Ike was everybody's friend and favorite, 
he had yet some enemies who sought to deplete his 
purse, and through him beggar the government 
whose accredited (too long accredited) agent he 
was. 

As the government was regarded as a swindle, 
and every one connected with it an accessory, va- 
rious were the attempts made to swindle Mr. Post- 
master Fowler, by different classes of society, under 
the laudable expressed intention of " getting some 
of the swindled money back again " — such as offer- 
ing bad bills and bad pennies, making a letter 
slightly overweight, writing on the corners of news- 
papers, using stamps that had failed to be properly 
cancelled, etc., etc., etc. All this, of course, was to 
be taken without the slightest suspicion that the 
keen individuals performed those little operations 
for the sake of the profit accruing therefrom : they 
would have scorned such an idea ! They were 



214: THE SWINDLE ON POSTMASTER FOWLER. 

merely doing a stern duty in the way of showing 
enmity to the purse of Ike Fowler, and through him 
to the post-office department and the govennnen:. 

Mr. Postmaster Fowler was badly victimized one 
day, during the summer of 185-, in manner and 
form following. It is to be understood that all 
these attempts to do the Postmaster and his em- 
ployees did not (as they do not) succeed ; but t is 
was considered a "splendid success," in the lan- 
guage at about that time adopted for plays that 
paid their expenses, and books that did not fall still- 
born from the press, — and had it occurred a little 
later, after the other charming nomenclature was 
adopted, would have been denominated a " big 
thing "not " on Snyder" but " on Fowler." 

Young Abrahams, son of Abraham Abrahams, 
of the firm of Moses, Abrahams & Co., of Chatham 
street, was the operator ; and it is his giant swindle 
upon Ike Fowler, at that time applauded and duly 
set down, that is now to be given to the world. 
Young Abrahams had been brought up to consider 
" trade " an institution, and a new wrinkle in that 
line as something that must eventually entitle the 
lucky discoverer to a cenotaph — said cenotaph to be 
built in the form of an immense and almost endless 
succes-iou of hats, placed one on top of the other, 
with the simple legend crowning the whole — 
"sheap!" 

Young Abrahams was observed by my friend 
Tom Short, and everybody's friend Tom Short, one 
of the best-looking black-whiskered fellows in town, 
with a roguish eye and a propensity for a practical 
joke that made him one of the most popular fellows 
in existence, — young Abrahams was observed by 
Tom, one afternoon in the summer of that particular 
year, wandering in a peculiar state of inquiry, in the 
neighborhood of that dismal old cavern honored 



THE SWINDLE ON POSTMASTER FOWLER. 215 

with the name of " the Post Office," and especially 
devoted to that use from the fact that it is, of ail 
the buildings in town, the very worst that could 
possibly be selected for such a purpose. Young 
Abrahams' mouth was open, as if he was trying to 
see with that useful organ, his nose was turned up 
as if a shower was soon expected and his brains 
needed irrigation, and the hat thrown back on his 
head had a suspicious gloss, indicating that it had 
just been taken down from one of the shelves for 
that particular occasion, and a card removed there- 
from with the mystical symbol "4s.," imprinted up- 
on it. Young Abrahams was evidently new to the 
neighborhood of Nassau and Liberty, and was look- 
ing up at the cupola for the letter-box. 

Tom Short was a. benevolent man (he is so still, 
for he kindly accepted an office from Old Abe the 
other day, and then, only a few days after, favored 
the old gentleman still more by accepting the lieu- 
tenancy of a company in the — th and going off to 
fight the secessionists) — and he at once went to the 
relief of young Abrahams. That interesting youth, 
when enquired of, informed Short that he had a Cal- 
ifornia letter in hand, and that he had been for the 
first time temporarily released from the shop-walk- 
ing and button-holing business in Chatham street, to 
perform the responsible duty of mailing. Short ad- 
vised him, as a friend, to procure fifty cents worth 
of stamps and paste upon the missive, hinting that 
that preparatory movement was necessary before 
putting it into the hole which he would show him. 

Young Abrahams was thunderstruck. 
- " Vot !" he said; u pay monish for putting dish 
letter in a hole? Mein Gott, dat ish a sheat!" 

Short suggested that whatever the swindle might 
be, the easiest way was the best way ; and young 
Abrahams was finally induced to accompany him 



216 THE SWINDLE ON POSTMASTER FOWLER. 

to the stamp-window, and invest fifty cents in 
stamps of various colors and values, to pay for 
which he overhauled all his pockets and brought 
out various dimes and half-dimes in different states 
of drilled holes, sweating and battery. 

Subsequently my friend Tom continued his ca- 
reer of benevolence, by leading the juvenile but 
very promising Hebrew to "fresh fields and pas- 
tures new" in the shape of the California drop-box, 
where he happened to have a deposit to make him- 
self. Abrahams came slyly up to the box behind 
him, and began a sharp investigation of the win- 
dows. He crouched down and looked through one 
dingy pane of glass; he raised on tip toe and exam- 
ined another; he flattened his aquiline nose against 
the ghvs and surveyed things inside generally. 
Short scented a different kind of joke from the one 
he had bargained for, and yet was a little puzzled. 
What could be coming? All that Hebraic acute- 
ness.could not possibly be wasted — something bril- 
liant was about to be done. 

At length after a thorough exploration of the 
glass and the cobwebs, young Abrahams approached 
his mouth very near to Tom Short's ear, and asked 
the momentous question, in a very sharp whisper : 
" Ish Mishter Postmashter Fowler here ? I wantsh 
to know." 

"No," answered Short; "he is nqt here just 
now." 

" Sure, now — no varesh dat he can see me ?" 

" Oh, yes, sure ! Why do you ask % What do 
you want of him ?" 

" Yy, look-a-here ! Don't you say noshing and 
I'll tell you. Mishter Postmashter Fowler is tarn 
schmart, but he find dat I am tarn sight schmarter. 
Dey make me pay fifty centsh for dese little papers 
to put dish letter in de box. I pay it, and den I 



THE SWINDLE ON POSTMASTER FOWLER. 217 

putsch de sclitamps in my pocket, and drop him in 
de box mitout 'em. Ob, dey ish very smart, but I 
tarn sight schmarter!" 

So saying, and while Mr. Short was surrepti- 
tiously whistling, and apparently engaged in a spec- 
ulation on the probable blowing off of the weather- 
cock on the top of the building, young Abrahams 
slyly slipped the letter into the box, and having 
thus done Mr. Postmaster Fowler out of the Califor- 
nia postage, took his way back to Chatham street, 
with the consciousness of having performed a good 
action, and a certainty that he had added at least 
one more hat to the pile in future to commemorate 
the colossal fortunes of the house of Abrahams. 

Tom Short, like a good fellow as he was, in spite 
of the danger to Ike Fowler's digestion of knowing 
how badly he had been defrauded, immediately 
pitched into the Post-Office and put the whole force 
on their guard against a repetition of so immense a 
swindle, by telling it ; and at the present writing I 
dare the possible vengeance of young Abrahams, of 
Chatham street, as well as recall Tom Short to the 
recollection of many friends, by repeating it at this 
time when all the laughter that can well be accu- 
mulated is desirable. 



10 



XXV. 

FUN AMONG THE BOOT-BLACKS. 



It is the New- York boot-black — him of the juve- 
nile years, but the mature wit — him of the chunky 
figure and the trousers made over from those of his 
father or his big brother — him of the Hibernian de- 
scent, the round, jolly face, and a strong propensity 
for nick-naming himself and others, and investing in 
amphitheatre tickets at the New Bowery — of whom 
these brief and jolly reminiscences are to be record- 
ed. He may be called " Shorty," or " Boots," or 
" Patsey," or " Winker," or " Sojer Bill," or " Mealy 
Pertaters" — in either case he is one of the family, 
and bears an unmistakeable family likeness. His 
stamping ground is the City Hall Park, and he has 
outposts at every hotel door, and at every three-cor- 
nered bit of ground below Union Square. Where 
his home is, nobody knows, any better than where 
the wild geese go to in summer, or what becomes 
of the dead donkeys. 

When the old Brick Church on Beekman street 
and Park Row was standing, and especially during 
the last year of the existence of that institution, the 
sidewalk in front of the door and opposite that of 
the Park Bank, was the down-town head-quarters 
of the gang. The man who inadvisedly came into 
that locality with a pair of uncleaned boots, was re- 



FTTH AMONG THE BOOT-BLACKS. 219 

quired to run such a gauntlet of the boys, with their 
eternal cries of " black your boots, sir !" u shine 'em 
up I" and " do it in a minute, ?ir," that he was very 
mean, or very determined, if he escaped without 
surrendering to some of the jolly little privateers. 

My place of business happened to be so located 
as to lead me past the Brick Church often several 
times a-day ; and I formed quite an admiration for 
the persistent little fellows, and grew so well ac- 
quainted with them as to know many of their fami- 
liar sobriquets. 

I happened to be passing, one afternoon in Sep- 
tember of that year, in company with Captain Wash 
Railing, then of the One Hundred and Eighteenth 
Ward police, whom everybody would recognize, 
under his real name, as a jolly good fellow and 
pleasantly fond of his little practical joke, and at 
the same time one of the most eflicient detectives, 
and one of the ablest police Captains in the Metro- 
polis. Probably not one in ten of the street-boys 
about town but knew him; and strict as he had al- 
ways been in the performance of his duty, not one 
of the boys but liked his genial face, and could be 
encouraged into almost any description of mischief 
by his winning smile. 

The boys were in full force as we passed the 
corner of the church, and none of thein seemed to 
be employed, though it was just before three o'clock 
and there were a good many passengers going by 
continually. Captain Wash stopped, nearly oppo- 
site the door, and in a moment half a dozen of the 
boot-blacks gathered around him, looking up in his 
face as if they felt that something must be in the 
wind: 

<• Nothing to do, eh, Shorty ?" said Wash, ad- 
dressing one of the largest of the boys. 

" Nuffin at all, Cap'n," said the boy, adding, with 



220 FUN AMONG THE BOOT-BLACKS. 

a mischievous dive towards Wash's pedals, " black 
your boots?" 

" No, not just now !" drawled Wash. " But why 
don't you stop some of these fellows coming by, and 
black their boots ?" 

" 'Cause they won't," said Shorty. 

" Yes, but make them I" answered Wash. 

"Eh — eh! we can't!" said Shorty and the half 
dozen others in a breath. 

" Oh, yon don't stick to 'em !" said Wash. " Get 
fast— hold on to 'em — don't let 'em go till you've 
fetched 'em. Two or three of you try one man, if 
you can't stop 'em without !" 

The idea seemed to amuse the boys, but they did 
not seem quite to realize that it could be put in 
operation. The smutty faces laughed, however. 
Just then a well-dressed man came by, going down 
towards Nassau street, and Wash nodded his head 
to Shorty and towards the passenger, with orders to 
" try him." 

Shorty hesitated an instant, took one more look 
in Wash's face, and the moment after he was block- 
ing the way of the passenger, down on his knees 
and brush in hand, with " black your boots, sir?" 

"No, get away, I don't want my boots blacked !" 
was the reply, the waylaid man trying to pass on. 
But by that time Shorty had caught another nod 
from Wash, and grabbed his victim by the leg. He 
made another attempt to shake off his tormentor, 
with the only result of aiding him to get his foot 
perforce on the top of. his box. At this juncture 
Coffee Joe, another of the gang, was ordered by the 
Captain to seize the other leg and hold it fast, and 
he did so. After one or two more kicks the victim 
stood still and Shorty blacked away at leisure. 

It is astonishing how soon a crowd can be raised 
in New York, and how readily any practical joke 



FtTN AMONG THE BOOT-BLACtKS. 221 

can be put into operation in the same locality. Two 
or three persons stopped to see the man have his 
boots blacked perforce. In less time than it takes 
to relate it they were seized upon, at Wash's nod 
and suggestion, by others of the boot-blacking fra- 
ternity, in ones and twos. One after the other some 
of them caught the joke and submitted. Others 
stopped to see the sport and were caught in like 
manner ; other boot-blacks saw that something un- 
usual must be going on, and ran over from the 
Park ; more feet were compulsorily lifted ; more 
spectators gathered, and the work went on merrily. 

In less than five minutes from the time when 
Shorty seized upon the leg of the first victim, more 
than twenty pairs of boots were being blacked on 
the single sidewalk bordering the Brick Church, 
between Park Row and Nassau street ; a crowd of 
at least a hundred and fifty or two hundred persons 
had gathered on the street on each side, under the 
impression that some kind of accident must have 
happened. Shorty and his coadjutors were raking 
in (though they probably did not get paid for alt) 
more sixpences than they had ever received in the 
same length of rime since they commenced busi- 
ness ; and Captain Wash Palling was lying back 
against the railings and laughing himself red in the 
face at the success of his prank. 

Captain Wash might have kept on laughing for the 
next quarter of an hour, and the crowd increasing 
all the time, but for the coming up of an acquaint- 
ance who knew the practical joker, at once divined 
that he must be at the bottom of the mischief, and 
soberly inquired "how much per-centage the bojs 
paid him for supplying them with business 1" 

At that hint that there were two sides to the joke, 
Captain Wash moved on, the boys lost their sudden 
run of custom, and the crowd dispersed quite as ra- 



222 FUN AH^NG THE BOOT-BLACKS. 

pidly as it had gathered. But there is not one of 
those boys, yet remaining in the business, who does 
not remember " the time when Captain Wash set 
'em to work down by the Old .Brick." 



it. 



My residence, months after, and when the Brick 
Church had fallen, was on the west side of Broad- 
way, while my place of business was, as before, on 
the east. Walking down town I consequently cross- 
ed the City Hall Park every morning ; and as the 
blocking up of the sidewalk in the erection of the 
brown-stone building, had driven all the boys from 
their old stamping-ground opposite the Park Bank, 
there was a double proportion of them along the 
walks of the Park, and more of a gauntlet to run 
than ever. 

Some of the faces in that gang of boot-blacks were 
worth study, and attracted me amazingly — there 
was so much good humor in many of them, and so 
much high health and exuberant spirits amid the 
dirt and squalor. One face that I remember had 
merry mischief enough in it to have made the for- 
tune of the owner under favorable circumstances. 
The Irish blue eyes laughed so merrily, and the 
brown, round little cheeks and dimpled mouth 
spoke so plainly of some rustic Hebe who had been 
his mother, that I could not avoid taking a fancy to 
the merry wretch in the patched corduroys. 1 re- 
member thinking, at that time, what a pity it was 
that some wealthy person did not rescue him from 
his squalor, educate him, and give him a chance in 
the world — and what havoc among the hearts of the 
girls, in that event, he would make before he reach- 



FUN AMONG THE BOOT-BLACKS. 223 

ed twenty. I have since thought that with his 
talent for mirth and mimicry, he ought to have 
been educated for the stage, as lie would have made 
the very beau-ideal of that rollicking, roguish, devil- 
may-care Irish " boy," with his impossible hat, his 
little twig of shillelegh, and his song of " The Lime- 
rick Kaces," or " Molly Asthore," that Barney Wil- 
liams plays better than any other man of the gene- 
ration. 

I accosted him one morning, and learned that his 
name was Mickey Callahan — that his mother lived 
in Elm street, and did washing — that he had a sis- 
ter who was older than himself, and (as he said) a 
good deal handsomer, and that when he got old 
enough he was going apprentice to a mason, and 
expected to build whole rows of brick houses .every 
day or two. 

Mickey, after our morning's conversation, used to 
monopolize waylaying me, to small purpose. Scarce- 
ly a day passed, for months, on which I crossed the 
Park without seeing him. He would manage to 
dodge up at my particular crossing, as I entered, 
and always accost me, respectfully enough, but mis- 
chievously, while the other boys soon learned that 
he had some kind of a quasi claim upon me, and 
kept from interference. The claim did not amount 
to much, pecuniarily, for I wore cheap patent- 
leathers, and only had occasion to employ Mickey 
once in a week or two when they wanted sweet- 
oil. Sometimes for weeks I would not patronize 
him at all, but the failure would not prevent his 
running along a little ahead of me, every morning, 
looking up mischievously in my face, and calling 
out " black your boots ? — shine 'em up ?" simply be- 
cause he knew that I did not want them blacked at 
all. 

Einally Mickey called me to account one morn- 



224: FUN AMONG TIIK BOOT-BLACKS. 

ing. " Sure yez oughtn't to be wearing thim pa- 
tent-leathers, Captain ! Yez don't he givin' poor 
Mickey a job at all! Och, why don't yez wear 
leather boots ?" 

"Do you really want to black a pair of leather 
boots for me, Mickey?" I asked. 

" To be sure I do !" said Mickey, incredulous that 
such a question could possibly be asked. 

" And you are sure that you'll black them if 1 
give you a chance, for sixpence a time ?" I asked 
again. 

<• Wouldn't I though ? Shine 'em up ! Yez 
could see your face in 'em !" said Mickey, his blue 
eyes flashing confidently. 

" Well," I said, "I shall begin wearing leather 
boots in a few days, for winter, and then you can 
have a chance." 

I think Mickey watched my feet still closer after 
that, as if he had acquired a new right to me. Cer- 
tain it is that he " boned " me every morning, 
though I still adhered to the patent-leathers, and 
invited me to undergo a periodical polishing that 
he knew I did not want (on the feet, at least.) 

One morning, however, when it had rained cats 
and dogs the day previous, and promised to repeat 
the operation before night, Mickey's sun rose, 
though the natural sun remained hidden. Stowed 
away in a dark closet of all household refuse, I had 
a pair of old grained-leather knee-boots, bearing 
date from the.'" hard winter " of two or three years 
before, when Broadway was knee-deep with snow 
and mud, all winter on the average. These boots, 
covered with dirt and mould, were exhumed from 
their burial, and at an expenditure of twenty-five 
cents I succeeded in getting Bridget to melt a cup- 
full of tallow and beeswax, and " grave " them (as 
the boatmen would say) thoroughly from toe to 



FUN AMONG THE BOOT-BLACKS. 225 

strap. When the operation was done, they weighed 
about two pounds more than before, and had an 
outer coat of the villainous grease, of the thickness 
of sheet iron, that no power could remove until it 
wore off, and that could be safely calculated to defy 
the elements for a month at least. 

Thus accoutred and with trousers tucked inside 
my boot-legs, I trudged down-town, the labor being 
no slight one, I must confess, and the muddy side- 
walks adding occasional splashes to the coating of 
wax and tallow, that made the boots anything but 
ornamental. I was slightly afraid that from the 
threatening weather and the mud, I might chance to 
miss Mickey. But no fear of that, in reality. 
Mickey was at his post, (the gate-post at the corner 
of Broadway and Chambers srreet,) and he recog- 
nized me, happily without remarking my boots. 

" Black your boots, sir?'' cried the little fellow, 
with his old mischievous leer. 

" Yes, Mickey," said I, stopping, " this time you 
may. 1 have got on my leather boots. You have 
been a good boy, Mickey, and I have never let you 
black my boots before. Now you can black them 
before, and behind, and then you can have your six- 
pence." 

Mickey had thrown himself on one knee and got 
his blacking and brushes ready, before he caught a 
view of the boots. When he did see them, I think 
I never saw so many varied expressions on any 
human countenance in the same length of time. A 
complete thunderstroke of astonishment that any 
man could wear such a pair of boots — a calculation 
how many boxes of blacking and how many hours 
of rubbing would be necessary before that abomina- 
ble mixture could be rubbed oif — the fact that they 
never could be made to shine, under any circum- 
stances — all these, with a flash of perception of the 
10* 



226 FUN AMONG THE BOOT-BLACKS. 

ludicronsness of the whole affair, could be read in 
the jolly little face of Mickey Callahan, as I looked 
down at him. 

Mickey was stumped! I had him! 

"Well Mickey," I said, "why don't you go to 
work ? Your sixpence is ready. I am in a hurry.'* 

By this time two or three other boys had saun- 
tered up, and seeing the position of affairs, began 
tittering, and one of them told Mickey to " shine 
'em up !" This was too much. Mickey got up from 
his kneeling position. I did not know how he was 
going to get out of it. 

Did I have Mickey, as I had supposed? Not 
exactly ! After one moment's hesitation, the little 
fellow quietly held out his box and brushes to me, 
as much as to say : " There, you can black them 
yourself if you want them blacked very much!" or 
" You can take my hat !" 

I had the impression, ps I stumbled across the 
Park in my thick boots, leaving the boys laughing 
behind me, that I had not made any extraordinary 
investment in Mickey after all, and that I had car- 
ried about ten pounds of grained-leather down town 
for nothing ! 



in. 

Only one other scene, in which the juvenile 
knights of the brush and box have a share, though 
fifty more instances instead of one might be given 
of their peculiar quality. This was a remarkable il- 
lustration of competition in trade, and of the effects 
of that competition when brought down to a small 
transaction. 

I was sauntering across the Park from the Beek 



FUN AMONG THE BOOT-BLACKS. 227 

man street entrance to the City Hall, one day within 
the last year, when I came upon a knot of half a- 
dozen of the little irrepressibles, with trade appa- 
rently very dull, their boxes and brushes piled up 
against a post under one of the iron chains, and they 
individually and collectively engaged in some kind 
of a game of marbles which has always been too ab- 
struse for my comprehension. 

Just ahead of me another individual had entered 
upon that municipal territory, and was passing up 
the same walk on which the boys were carrying on 
the game of abstruse dexterity. He was evidently 
a Yankee, though not born in any of the Eastern 
States — a Jersey one, probably, come over from 
Communipaw or Hardscrabble, and his errand in 
town was written on his whole outward appearance. 
He was tall and lanky, and walked with the grace 
of a step-ladder set to locomotion. He had a nar- 
row face, with sandy scrubbing-brush hair, with 
mean nose and diminutive eyes, (I had a fair oppor- 
tunity to note all these particulars very soon after- 
wards,) and I would have wagered my two-dollars' 
worth of best hat that if he had a nick-name in the 
part of the country he inhabited, it was ".Skimp," 
" Skin-flint," or something of the same compliment- 
ary character. In^ apparel he was gorgeously ar- 
rayed in a new suit of black with the creases of the 
shop shelves yet apparent in it, having evidently 
been procuring a new outfit at one of the cheap em- 
poriums of Chatham street. Gorgeously arrayed, 
all but his hat, which was a greasy felt broad-brim, 
— and his boots, which were stout calf-skin, un- 
blacked, and red with the dust of his native plains. 

These boots attracted the notice of the marble- 
players at once. Up sprang the whole half dozen, 
leaving the game to be decided afterwards, and 
made a dash at the adventurous foreigner with the 



228 FUN AMONG THE BOOT-BLACKS. 

new clothes. " Black your boots !" " Shine 'em 
up f ' " Do it in a minute !" " Give 'em a nice 
shine !" and innumerable other incentives to invest 
sixpence in polish, were showered upon him from 
all the circle, while two stood in his way so that lie 
could not go on without running over them, and the 
rest were all ready to seize him from behind at the 
least encouragement. I leaned on the iron chain 
not far off, pretended to be studying the flag over 
the Tribune office, and noted the adventures of Jer- 
sey. 

" Black your boots ?" 

"No, get out of the way — don't want 'em black- 
ed !" was the surly response. 

" Oh, he oughter ! See what nice clothes he has 
got on, and only look at them boots !" said one of 
the boys to the others, with an air as if he was not 
interested, but was merely making a philosophical 
remark for the general good of society. This flat- 
tery of the clothes brought the customer to a stop, 
as the incipient young diplomatist who had not yet 
emerged from the crysalis of boot-blacking, no doubt 
thought that it would ! 

" See here — dern it ! no, guess I don't want 'em 
blacked !" said Communipaw, stopping short, never- 
theless, and looking down at once on his new trou- 
sers and his red boots. 

" Yes yer do ! Shine 'em up !" answered the flat- 
tering person who had before spoken. 

"Well, dern it, how much do you charge?" asked 
the customer, hesitatingly. " He who hesitates is 
lost," not less in negotiating with a body of boot- 
blanks than in direct intercourse with the Prince of 
Darkness. 

" Oh, only sixpence !" said the boy who seemed to 
have acquired the right of preemption, dropping at 
once on his knee and grasping his brush. 



FUN AMONG/ THE BOOT-BLACKS. 229 

" Sixpence ! oh, get out !" replied Skimp. " No, 
I can get 'em blacked home for less than that!" and 
he made a motion to pass on, as he had no doubt 
done two or three times that day while buying his 
clothes at the Jew shops in Chatham street. 

"Do it for five cents," said the boy who had put 
himself in position, spitting in his now-opened box 
of blacking. 

" No, that's a derned sight too much !" said Skimp, 
making another move to pass on. " Never give so 
much as that in my life, jest for puttin' a little 
blackin' oil my hoots /" (Emphasis on the last 
word, as if it might have been reasonable enough to 
pay such an unheard-of price for blacking some- 
thing else.) 

" Won't you give five cents? Eh, ain't you 
smart, now ?" indignantly said No. 1, throwing his 
brush into his box, and jumping up. 

" See here, fellers ! Ain't none of you goin' to 
do it less than that ere ?" queried Comma nipaw, 
who seemed now to have got in the notion of having 
his boots blacked if it did not cost too much. Busi- 
ness was probably very dull, for thereupon ensued a 
competition which is rare among the guild. (Your 
boot-black does not generally " cut under" his rival.) 

" Yes, here, hold up yer foot ! I'll do it for four 
cents I" said one of the other boys, unslinging his 
box and throwing himself into position. 

" No, that's too much, too !" said the prudent 
person. " Tell you what I'll do— give you three 
cents." 

" No yer don't !" broke out Nos. 1 and 2 in cho- 
rus ; but No. 3, who was evidently hard -up and had 
a sort of a seedy, rat appearance, " went back " on 
the fraternity. 

" I'll do it for three cents !" said that individual, 
throwing himself into the requisite position and 
dragging one of the feet on the box. 



230 FUST AMONG TOE BOOT-BLACKS. 

11 Well now, black 'em nice, all over," adjured the 
foreigner, as the brash beiran to lay the blacking on 
the red leather, " Derned if I ever have 'em blacked 
again ef you don't do 'em nice !" 

The juvenile of moderate charges worked away, 
making innumerable applications to the box of black- 
ing before he could get that extensive territory of red 
leather covered at all; while the malcontents — that 
is, all the others who had " struck " from such a de- 
preciation in the value of their labor — formed a 
corps of observation at the nearest post. 

" Ony jest look at him !" indignantly cried differ- 
ent members of the gang. " Blackin' boots for three 
cents !" " Ain't you a smarty ?" " Eeeagli !" 
a Want another box of blacking afore he's half 
done !" " Eeeagh ! Eeeagh !" and this running fire 
of comment Kept on during the whole operation, 
which was by no means a short one, for the country 
boots had evidently been made where leather was 
plenty, and the liberal customer pointed out two or 
three places where he wanted " a little more on," and 
"gin 'em another rub !" 

Finally the work was done, the juvenile workman 
got up from his kneeling position, and the time for 
payment came. Communipaw's right hand had 
been jingling something in his pocket during all the 
process, and now the hand came out with a variety 
of contents which he put into the other. There was 
a knife, as I could see from my position — some cord 
— a comb — a few buttons. The dexter hand moved 
round among the assortment, but did not seem to 
find what it was looking for. 

" Derned if I didn't think I had three cents!" 
was the surprised exclamation. " Swan I had a lit- 
tle while ago. Wouldn't hev had 'em blacked ef 
I'd a knowed I hadn't 'em. Look a here, boy, here's 
one cent — that's all I've got, 'pears — give you 



FUN AMONG- THE BOOT- BLACKS. 231 

t'other two next time I see you." And he dropped 
the single copper into the hand of the knight of the 
brush ! 

Here my knowledge of the circumstances and my 
descriptive power both tail. Which was driven and 
hooted out of the Park more particularly — the rat- 
boot-black or the man who got his half-acre of red 
leather blacked for a cent, — I do not know. I only 
know they all went down the walk towards Broad- 
way, pretty rapidly and with a good deal of noise. 
I do not believe that Skimp has ever crossed the 
Park since, and I am not too sure that the offending 
member was not expelled from the privileges of the 
fraternitv. 



XXIV. 

BILL FRASER' S BIG LUXURY. 

The best stutterer I have ever known, with the 
exception of JoeBramby, elsewhere named in these 
recollections, was Bill Fraser, a legitimate descend 
ant of the old Scotch Frasers of Lovat, and a brother 
to the Princess Lucien Murat, who kept a school at 
Bordentown, New Jersey, and now sustains the 
style of the Imperial Court at the Elysee Bourbon 
at Paris. 

Fraser w r as a hotel-keeper, a horse-jockey, gam- 
bler and unmitigated scamp, known over the whole 
section of country stretching between the cities 
of New-York and Philadelphia — half the time tipsy 
and always stuttering, but so droll and jocular that 
plenty of men who despised him and his courses, still 
tolerated his company. He was always, in his pal- 
mier days, surrounded by a knot of wild fellows who 
helped him drink his liquor and spend his money ; 
and a gay time they generally managed to make of 
it. Fifty anecdotes of his jocular scoundrelisms 
might be given, but we must be content with one 
which shows that there is a bound even to the ex- 
travagancies of the spendthrift. 

There was a "protracted meeting " going on in a 
country church, not far from one of the villages 
where Fraser and his friends were carousing at the 



233 

tavern. A "protracted meeting," as the uniniti- 
ated may need to be told, is a revival meeting, 
generally under the auspices of the Methodist deno- 
mination, but sometimes held by others, at which 
preaching, exhortation and prayer are kept up at 
short intervals, sometimes for many weeks, with 
personal appeals to those who may happen to be 
attendance, often not easy to resist, and re- 
sulting very generally in large accessions to the 
churches engaged. 

To this meeting Fraser and his companions went 
over from the tavern, ail half tipsy, and altogether 
reckless. Not. much was known of them in that 
particular section, especially by the good people of 
the church, and consequently none of those engaged 
had the least idea what a valuable addition had 
been made to the audience with the entrance of the 
party. They took their seats quietly enough, in 
one of the pews not very near the pulpit, and the 
exercises of the evening went on. 

The meeting had been held for several days, and 
was now in full progress. Preaching and prayer 
were mingled with exhortation and singing, and 
there was some noise and a good deal of excitement. 
At length some of the more fervent fathers of the 
church came down from the pulpit and the circle 
of prayer near it, and began to move about from 
pew to pew, making urgent personal appeals to all 
who showed the least signs of attention. 

Some evil genius sent one of the good old deacons 
to the pew where Bill Fraser was seated, with half 
a dozen of his boon companions near him. Per- 
haps Bill was a little sleepy after so much whiskey — 
at all events he had his head bent down to the back 
of the pew in front of him, and the old deacon at 
once seized upon him as one whose head must be 
bowed by sincere contrition, and who must, conse- 



234: BILL FRASER's BIG LUXURY. 

quently. be a hopeful subject ! He bent down his 
mouth to the supposed sufferer's ear, and said : 

ii Don't you feel badly, my friend ?" 

" Y-y-yes, I do !" said Fraser, without lifting his 
head. There is no doubt that he did, though some- 
what more from rum and late hours, than from any 
religious or moral contrition. 

" I thought so !" said the delighted deacon. " I 
knew you must feel badly, by the way you held 
down your head. This is a good place you came 
to, my friend ! Don't you think it is good to be 
here?" 

" W-w-well, y-y-yes, rather !" said Bill, " I ha-ha- 
havn't been in a n-n-nicer place in s-s-some time !" 
alluding probably to the fact that it promised to be 
rather a cozy place for a tipsy man to sleep. 

" Well, my friend," said the good old deacon, 
" there is but one thing for you to do ! You ought to 
pray ! You must pray I" 

" D-d-do you th-th-think so ?" asked the half- 
tipsy fellow. 

" I am sure of it !" said the deacon. 

" W-w-well, you ought to kn-kn-know best !" said 
the reprobate, " only I'm a little g-g-green and I 
don't understand m-m-much about it!" 

"Try," said the deacon, "and you will be in- 
structed. Fall on your knees at once, and pray !" 

" H-h-here's some m-m-more fellows," said the 
neophyte, indicating his companions. " Th-tli-they 
feel bad too! W-w-what about them?" 

" Oh," said the deacon, now more than ever hope- 
ful of his convert, " nothing could be better. You 
show the true feeling — anxiety for your friends. 
Fray for them." 

" W-w-well," said Bill, in a tone and with a man- 
ner that would have warned the old deacon if he 
had been less unsuspicious and absorbed — " w-w- 



235 

well, if* I m-ra-ust, I m-m-ust ! so h-h-here goes !". and 
down on his knees be dropped in the pew, and in a 
voice loud enough to be heard over the whole 
church, and stop all the other exercises, uttered — 
no, stuttered — such a prayer as was never heard be- 
fore or since ! 

" W-w-we're all sinners, Lord, b-b-but here's some 
of the cussedest you ever d-d- did see!" By this 
time he had plenty of auditors. 

" H-h-here's B-b-bill Jones, alongside side of me" 
mentioning the name of one of the fellows with 
him — " he's g-g-got th-th-three women under w-w- 
way at once" — symptoms of Jones, furious in face, 
edging over towards him — " and th-th-there's Tom 
W-w-wilson," mentioning another close beside him 
— " it* you c-c can d-d-do anything with h-h-him I 
sh-sh-should like to s-s-see it ! H-h-he's the biggest 
thief in the c-c-country, and can ch-ch-cheat more 
at division-loo than any t-t-ten men in J-j-jersey !" — 

Suddenly something, very probably the fist of the 
publicly calumniated lorn Wilson, hit Fraser along- 
side the head, and down he went in the aisle. Be- 
fore this the deacon had begun to hold up his hands 
in pious horror at the verbal demonhe had unchained, 
and half the congregation had sprung to their feet 
and clomb on benches to look over towards the 
scene of interest. The blow culminated matters. 
All the rough boys in the back part of the room be- 
gan to press forward — women screamed and fainted 
— Fraser, something of a gymnast and bruiser, was 
on his feet in a moment and paying back the licks 
with drunken interest — some ran in to drag others 
out— a few cried " lire !" and " murder!" — lighting 
became general — and in two minutes that meeting 
had adjourned itself into the street, in such a row 
as had probably not before occurred in a religious 
assemblage since Theodore Hook fastened all the 



236 



audience down to the benches with awls, in the Lon- 
don church, turned off the gas and bellowed " fire !" 
and " thieves !" 

As fortune would have it, Eraser and his compa- 
triots did not get off scot-free. There was a consta- 
ble in the assembly, and one of the deacons was a 
Squire. Eraser was arrested and lugged off to the 
Squire's house, where he was summarily tried for 
" disturbing a religious assembly" and had the op- 
tion of paying down a fine of fifty dollars or going 
off in a cart to the county jail. He paid down the 
fifty dollars and was released, while the others es- 
caped with fines of ten dollars each ; and it is sup- 
posed that they then went back to play out their 
little interrupted game of loo or poker at the ta- 
vern. 

Some months elapsed before Bill Fraser was ever 
again inveigled within the bounds of a religious as- 
semblage. When he did go again, it was also in a 
country section, to a " protracted meeting," and un- 
der circumstances very similar. The same old story 
— preaching, praying, singing, exhortation. Every- 
body excited, and everybody apparently happy. 
Eraser about as tipsy as before, and sitting, as be- 
fore, with his head down. Another pious old fel- 
low walking down the aisle and appealing to the ap- 
parent " mourners." The same fortune as his pre- 
decessor had met, led him to accost our neophyte. 
Nearly the same address, as there is more earnest- 
ness than variety in such appeals. 

" You are suffering, my friend !" 

« W-w-well, I am !" said Bill. " You'd b-b-better 
believe it !" 

" Sin is heavy," said the mentor. " It bows down 
the head like a bulrush." 

" You c-c-can b-b-bet it does !" was the not very 



237 



hopeful reply, but the anxious enquirer heeded the 
matter and not the manner. 

" There is balm for every wound," the old man 
went on. 

" S-s-so I have h-h-heard !" said the man with the 
bowed head. 

"But you must do something yourself," said the 
man of consolation, " or nothing can be done for 
you." 

" W-w-well, g-g-go ahead !" was the answer. 
" I've b-b-been d-d-doing something all my 1-1-life, 
and if I've g-g-got to d-d-do anything m-m-more, 
let's h-h-hear from you !" 

" My friend," said the comforter, solemnly, " you 
must pray." 

"Pray!" cried Bill, starting to his feet, eyeing 
the old deacon very much as if he had caught him 
with his lingers in his pocket, and blurting out his 
words so loudly as to throw this second audience 
into convulsions though happily not into a light. 

" Pray f IST-n-no, I'm c-c-cussed if I do ! I t-t- 
tried that once, and it c-c-cost me f-f-fifty d-d-dol- 
lars in 1-1-less than h-h-half a minute ! I can s-s- 
stand a 1-1 little p-p-poker, you know, and a little 
cut- throat loo, and d-d don't mind t-t-trading horses 
once in a wh-wh- while, even if they d-d-do cheat 
me ; but I c-o-canH afford any m-m-more <?' thatp-p- 
prayiiC — Ws altogether too c-c-costly, and too bo big 
a luxury for my p-p-pocket-book /" 

Thereupon Bill Fraser stumbled out of church, 
with the air of a man upon wjiom a personal injury 
had been attempted ; and as I have since heard of 
his taking a short term at stone-cutting in govern- 
ment employ, for making a small mistake and put- 
ting the wrong man's name to a little piece of paper, 
it is highly probable that no one ever succeeded in 
making him a religious proselyte. 



XXVII. 

HATS AND COATS AT DONATION VISITS. 

Once upon a time I went to a Donation Visit, in 
a large town in the country. Does anybody know 
exactly what a Donation Visit may be ? Easily ex- 
plained : a visit paid in certain country sections an- 
nually to the minister of each religions denomina- 
tion — at which every one is expected to bring some- 
thing as a present, a supper to be provided, and the 
visitors to have a good time generally. One brings 
a cheese — one half a dozen pounds of tea — one the 
materials for a coat for the pastor or a dress for his 
wife — one, one to five dollars of the current coin of 
the republic — one a crock of butter — and so on. 

As I was saying, I was inveigled into one of these 
customary annual parties, and enjoyed it hugely, 
especially as on such occasions a little more latitude 
is allowed between the young people than is other- 
wise considered proper under the minister's roof. 

I ou;?ht to put in here, in a parenthesis, that Do- 
nation visits sometimes sees displays of execrable 
meanness perfectly sublime ; as when some contemp- 
tible sponge brings his wife and three children, stuffs 
himself and them with a better supper than they 
have had for a twelvemonth, and give the astounded 
Domine at parting half a dollar or a dollar — about 
one quarter the value of what they have eaten. 

Some rough drollery is there too, occasionally, 
when "one of the bloods" honors the occasion with 



HATS AND COATS AT DONATION VISITS. 239 

his presence, and brings half a dozen pounds of tea 
or a dozen of butter, snugly packed in a utensil of 
crockery, all new and clean, but not generally con- 
sidered appropriate for table use — opens it in full 
view of all the company, and throws all the men 
into guffaws, and all the women into blushing like 
full-blown peon vs. 

Then the ready-made garments which are some- 
times brought and presented — some of them of 
small size, and highly suggestive, if the minister 
and his lady happen to be a new-married couple ; 
with the blushing disclaimers, the titterings and the 
snickerings which follow. 

Then, sometimes, when the minister's wife is a 
shrew, and meaner than any one of her guests — the 
sport of watching that amiable woman's counte- 
nance, while her best carpet is being muddied and 
her best set of cliairs put in peril, without her dar- 
ing to make an offensive observation. And to watch 
her when the supper is disappearing somewhat too 
rapidly, and see the calculations which are made 
within and show themselves on the surface — as to 
wfiether there will he anything left! 

But all this is foreign to my present reminiscence, 
to which I must return before the company have 
dispersed. 

At the head of the first flight of stairs was a bed- 
room, used on that particular occasion as a coat and 
hat room for the male guests. Every one, on arriv- 
ing, went up to this retiring-room, and threw his 
overcoat and hat on the bed, which became, after a 
time, buried under a pyramid of hats and an ava- 
lanche of coats. It is not to be supposed that these 
articles came out of the heap quite as good as new 
when the visitors prepared to leave — but no better 
could be done. 

Well — I had occasion to pass the door of this 
room late in the evening, but before many of the 



240 HATS AND COATS AT DONATION VISITS. 

guests had gone. A strapping six-footer from the 
hills a few miles back of the town was turning over 
the heap of hats — I could see him through the half- 
open door — and muttering some things that were 
not prayers. I had the curiosity to see what was 
wrong, and so went to the door. 

" My hat — where the d l's my hat ?" was his 

response to my question. 

"Your hat ?" I answered. " What do you mean ? 
are you looking for any particular hat?" 

iU "My hat, I tell you !" he replied a little wrath- 
fully, giving the pile of hats another dab, and look- 
ing sideways at me. " I want to go home, and can't 
find my hat !" 

" Stranger," said I, determined on a joke, " I 
don't think you have ever been to one of these par- 
ties before." 

" ISTo," he answered, " and I don't think I shall 
ever come to one again." 

" Thought you hadn't," I said, " or you wouldn't 
have been looking for your hat, as you call it !" 

" Why, what the thunder do you mean ?" he 
asked, turning square around to me. 

"Just this, my friend," I said. "You don't 
seem to know that when people come to these par- 
ties, and get ready to go away, the first man always 
takes the best hat in trie heap that will fit him, and 
so they go on down till they finish the heap." 

" Oh, that is the way, is it ?" he replied. 

I went down stairs, content with the prank I had 
played. So did he, I have no doubt ; for. he not 
only took the best hat he could find, but traded his - 
miserable old gloves for a good pair, and his shabby 
old wrapper for my overcoat I I had taught him 
altogether too much about the morals of Donation 
Visits I 



A BOOK FULL. OF LAUGHS. 




New York: 

CARLETON, PUBLISHER. 

413 Broadway. 

m 

PRICE SEVENTY-FIVE CENTS 




J Uti JU-c Hrfi 

| Victor Hugo's Great Novel. % 

LES MISERABLES. 

A New Novel by M. Victor Hugo. 

Author of "NOTRE ©AUIE I>E PARIS," etc. 



This magnificent work by the greatest of the French 
novelists, has just made its appearance in Paris, and an 
excellent American Translation from the early foreign sheets 
is now placed before the public. 

The mere announcement of this remarkable work of fiction 
(for the copyright of which, the European publishers are 
reported to have paid the essrtxiess mm of 

400,000 Francs— $80,000) 

has excited the deepest* curiosity throughout the literary 
world, and its publication in Paris has, in the short week 
since its appearance, caused a profound sensation. 
It is characterized in Europe as the 

" Literary Event of this Century," 

for it has absorbed the best thoughts of the celebrated 
author, during five-and-twenty years. Two editions were 
exhausted within one week, and the praise bestowed upon it 
has exceeded all. bounds. 

The American Translation is in two editions octavo ; 
one with paper covers for the million, at the low price of 
50 cents, and another on superior paper and cloth binding 
for $1.00. 



■K # 



x* Copies sent by mail postage free, on receipt of price, by 
Carletcn, Publisher (late Kudd & Carleton), 

413 Broadway, cor. Lispenard St. New YorJe. 



JIB; 




jLHI 



hUc 



AN ADMIRABLE BOOK 

New Edition now Ready. 

The Habits of Good Society. 

A Handbook of Etiquette for Ladies and Gentlemen. 

With Thoughts, Hints, and Anecdotes concerning Social 
Observances ; Nice points of Taste and Good Man- 
ners ; and the Art of making oneself Agree- 
able. The whole interspersed with 
humorous illustrations of Social 
Predicaments ; Remarks on 
Fashion, &c, &c. 

One Large 12mo. Elegant Cloth Binding. Price $1.50. 

Extract from Table of Contents. 

Gentlemen's Preface. 
Ladies' Preface. 
Thoughts on Society. 



G-ooo Society. 

Bad Society. 

The Dressing Room. 

The Ladies' Toilet. 

Dress. 

Fashions. 

Ladies' Dress. 

Accomplishments. 

Feminine Accomplishments, 

Manners and Habits. 

Married Ladies. 

Unmarried Ladies. 

Unmarried Gentlemen. 

Public Etiquette. 

Calling Etiquette. 

Cards. 

Visiting Etiquette. 

Dinners. 



Dinner Parties. 

Little Dinners. 

Ladies at Dinner. 

Habits at Dinner. 

Carving, &c. 

Balls. 

Dancing. 

Manners at Supper. 

Morning Parties. 

Pic-Nics. 

Evening Parties. 

Private Theatricals. 

Receptions, &c. 

Marriage. 

Engagements. 

The Ceremony. 

Invitations. 

Dresses. 

Bridesmaids. 

Presents. 

Travelling Etiquette. 



Together with a thousand other matters of such geueral 
interest and attraction, that no person of any good taste 
whatever can be otherwise than delighted with the volume. 

It is made np of no dry stupid rules that every one knows, 
but is sensible, good-humored, entertaining, and readable. 
The best and wittiest book on "Manners" ever printed, and 
which no one should be without. 



*„* Copies sent by mail free on receipt of price — $1.50. 

Carletcn, Publisher (late Eudd & Carleton) 

413 Broadway, cor. Lispenard St., New York. 



JH 




Ready this week. 



d 



ARTEMUS WARD 

His Book. 

Willi luany Comic Illustrations on Tinted Paper. 

Elegant 12mo., cloth bound. Price $1.25. 



Consisting of the richest and most characteristic writings 
of this great American Humorist. 

For several years there has appeared no first-rate humor- 
ous book from the American press, and a good one at this 
time, when the community is craving for something where- 
with to dispel the depression into which it has been plunged, 
will be welcomed by everyone. 

Many of the irresistibly funny letters of the immortal 
" Artemus Ward," have become familiar, by being copied 
and recopied in the newspapers of the day ; others, however, 
have escaped the eye of the reader, and an attempt has been 
made in tliis volume to collect the best, and to issue them 
in one handsome volume, splendidly illustrated. No one 
will be dissatisfied after investing a dollar upon a book that 
will illumine with peals of laughter every household into 
which it finds its way. 



Also now ready, 

OUT OF HIS HEAD. 

A peculiarly striking and eccentric romance by the popular 
American author T. B. Aldrioh, author of "Babie Bell 
and other poems." The weird experience of Mr. Lynde, and 
the dark story of Mary Ware, are told with a strange dramatic 
power. Paper covers, price 50 cents, and cloth bound (on 
superior paper), $T .00. 

•\ x . ; - Either of these boolcs sent by mail freely 
Carleton, Publisher (late Kudd & Carleton), 

413 Broadway, cor. Lispenard St., New York. 




cj-r 



ERikl 



<g£; ■&+?> :&m 









a 



7>3 I>J 



3 >>3 a*3» 
53^>>3^|f> 

5> » ^ ST 






DG>3n^ 
■»3 33^ 

- 33 >* 
»:§>3> 



3> . 



3>J>3ZJ»3js> 



;CS>30* 






»1»:'''JD ,3>l>3 



"5 > I>3 



ftp ..-> 

pp.- 


ill 




^?,||] 




: ;^m 












» 5>i , -T3>:-nS> 33»^Sfe>^> 3> 






> 3 J»3 2»:>3 » ± 

> 3 >» 2itol>> » V 

3 3 »3 JB8g>3 5>£> 



► 3> JO 

*>£& >^ 

S> ^ 3 > 
» 3> )) 

33 

3>>i> 3 3 

33 35> 3 3 
33» > 3 3 



3>3 ^3> > 3>»33 

33r^> ~>^> 












3 s» >>>. 
> 3» Xfi 

rS &> >;> x 

3 S> 3>3, 



3VS> 

3>"J» 3 



3i>3 ^> r 

>3>5 5- ■ 

>3 3> : > 3 

■ ; > y» : 
3 3> 3> MM- 

■ >3> J 

> 3>33-J 

SPOOKS* 

3>332> 2>^ v 

»0 2> 2>>T» ^ 



sbs 



■> 32*3 3X2 

^ 3»3JD 

> 3>3 3i>- 

> 2X> 3» 






~^:0>3> 



} & 333^ 

3: 

o> x>> 

D » J3 3 

>>»•->:> :> : 

» >>"3 : 

»o:> > 

■?, #> 
> ^ 



3> 53 



> > 






» >.»3-> 
>33> , 



'3 3 



33 
> 3 

> 



»3 


'■'-■3B 




■"^6 


5>^>3^„ ■: 


>.' "jJB 


>■ ;3»^ ? 


■ ■■ r^w 


^•QK. 


Oy..Z3| 


'!>: :^» 


O/.jJ 


7> ^-S» 


' ■ ?~C3| 



5i 



^^ 

J> >3» 
> >» 






>)>3 ^."3i»3^V3>'" J 
3» ^J^>.3 >> 

^3 > » 
3>^> 



